


THE CATALYST

by Scribe_of_the_Fey



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, BAMF!Belladonna, Badass Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins Goes on Adventures, Bilbo Baggins is Royalty, Bilbo creates his own kingdom, Bilbo has a Guild, Chapter count will be raised after each story arc is finished, Character Development, Child Abuse by Community, Comfort, Durin Family Adopts Bilbo Baggins, Durin Family Feels, Dwarf Beads, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf braids, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Eventual Happy Ending, Exiled Bilbo Baggins, F/F, Families of Choice, Family, Family Feels, Fix-It, Fluff, Forgiveness, Fíli and Kíli Are Little Shits, Genius Bilbo Baggins, Gerontius is THE BEST GRANDPA, Gossipy Hobbits, Grief/Mourning, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Hurt Bilbo Baggins, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Linguistic Bilbo, Loss, M/M, Meddling Valar, Minor Character Death, Non-Canon Lore, Overprotective Dwarves, Personal Growth, Promises, Secretive Bilbo, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spycraft, Temporary mother/son separation, The Valar, Time Travel Fix-It, Young Bilbo Baggins, judgmental hobbits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-01-25 10:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 45
Words: 131,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21355075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe_of_the_Fey/pseuds/Scribe_of_the_Fey
Summary: Bilbo Baggins was always a bit of an odd child. He knew that about himself. After all, other faunts his age could not 'remember' what *would* happen during their lifetimes. Bilbo doesn't know who or what brought him back, and he doesn't care. This is a chance to change the fate of those he cares most about. Even if he was to wait fifty years to do it.In the 'Before', he was Silvertongue, Barrel Rider, Ring-Bearer, and the Baggins of Bag End. He will need to become so much more if he plans on saving anyone from their fate, higher powers and destiny be damned.《 Rated Mature for Graphic Violence and Chapter-Specific Trigger Warnings 》Chapter count will be adjusted to signify the end of each story arc, not the end of the story itself, which will be around 100 chapters.
Relationships: Belladonna Baggins/Dís Durin, Bilbo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield, Bungo Baggins/Belladonna Took, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield - Relationship
Comments: 1739
Kudos: 2768





	1. In Which Belladonna Took Meets A Stranger in a Pointed Hat

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF TOLKIEN OR PETER JACKSON'S CHARACTERS.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belladonna meets a stranger in the market. She didn't know it then, but that fateful encounter would be only the first of many to come for herself and her family line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.1.2020: Just a quick note: Please note that at the time of publishing the first chapter of this story, I was recovering from a brain injury. Due to that issue, I hadn't written for over two years at the time. I am still recovering, but I am doing better. Any improvement in writing style or/and voice is due to that. I've decided not to edit/rewrite this story because I like that it shows my journey to recovery in terms of cognitive abilities and consistent dedication to turn my inspiration into a reality. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who chose to read this story! You all have made it possible. I'm not sure I would have gotten as far as I have without all of you to cheer me on. You guys really helped me find my love of writing again. And for those of you that are new here, I sincerely hope you enjoy the story! 
> 
> Thank you!

Belladonna Took considered herself to be a rather adventurous soul in comparison to the other denizens of the Shire. Even after the tragedies of losing many of her siblings to hard winters and terrible accidents before they could reach adulthood, she had never adopted the wary sort of caution the rest of her family wore when dealing with the outside world. Her mother told her frequently that she would grow out of it once she reached the age of a proper hobbitess. She never did. In fact, Belladonna remained a young soul well into her adulthood. She always had a smile for everyone and never ceased looking for new and interesting things to learn about. Her resilience served her well during her childhood and continued to do so long after she’d reached her maturity. 

Belladonna was fond of adventures. There were many-a-night she spent beneath the party tree weaving tales for her younger siblings and other trouble-makers of the Shire. Most were of fanciful retellings of her meagre travels, small though they were. Hobbits were small creatures after all. As her late grandfather had often said, _‘even a short journey is long to one that is short_’. She had taken his words to heart and quietly put away dreams of travel and elves and excitement. There was far too much to be done at home to dream about a life she could never have. 

But fate chose to intervene. She didn't often venture into big-folk territory. Trips into Bree were few and far between, however, she had jumped at the chance to volunteer herself to go and purchase textiles for her mother. Her heart had been light as she had skipped down the lane before the sun had even made an appearance that morning. A most indecent hour, indeed. Her spirits had no been dampened when she'd arrive late that afternoon. As she’d stated her business at the gate, she’d thought about what new tale she would spin for her siblings when she returned. As she walked into the market, she decided that the fireflies she most assuredly would see on the trek home the next day would become fairies and that the star flowers that they flew around were actually their homes when they were all closed up during the day. A story about fey-folk would make their eyes shine brightly and make them forget the troubles, she was sure. And as she haggled and bartered with a particularly unpleasant merchant for his sub-standard wool, she had the inspired (if not slightly irritated) idea to make him the villain.

Belladonna Took was a good sort of girl. She was well-liked among all the hobbit gentry of the Shire and a favourite of all the young lads that had been coming to call of late. She was good with children out of necessity, but she much preferred the company of the elderly, as they had more stories to tell, even if they were about cornfields and gossip-worthy scandles. That is why when she saw an old, old Man in a long grey robe and pointy hat sitting on a set steps with a gaggle of children gathered about him, she decided that she simply must know what he was saying. He held a gnarled walking stick over his knees and leaning close to his audience, long beard moving up and down comically whenever he spoke.

The human children there were about her size so she doubted she would be disturbed or questioned if she were to join their curious ranks. The wool would cost more than they were worth, even if her mother would be cross with her. Turning back toward the unpleasant Man, she told him exactly that, withdrawing her bartering coin from the table and leaving without bothering to stay and listen to his spluttering. Her mind was already elsewhere. Wandering closer to the spectacle in front of her, she leaned forward without thinking about it to hear the story he was obviously telling. The old Man was talking rather animatedly, arms waving about and sleeves billowing every which way. She arrived just in time to watch the children were gasp and turn to hold on to each other tightly.

_ It must be a good story,_ Belladonna thought, settling herself on the cobblestone street near the back in time to catch the rest of his tale. 

“….and then we were chased out of the ruins by the hillmen!” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “They led us back to their village and we were imprisoned in their cages for a week!” he told them in a hoarse voice, squinting hard.

One of the children whimpered and clutched tighter at the poor girl sitting next to her. “What happened then, Mister Gandalf?”

“We escaped,” he told her conspiratorially with both his brows arching dramatically. 

Obviously not content with the answer, the children launched a group attack, questions nd protest pouring from every mouth. A few parents stood off the the side, faces shwoing mixed reactions to this 'Gandalf' person. Some were smiling indulgently, while other’s scowled. Gandalf just laughed at his audience and shooed them away with his long sleeves.

“Go on, go on,” he chuckled. “You’ll get the rest of the tale tomorrow!” he announced. 

There were disappointed sounds and few pleas, but it was apparent that this wasn’t the first time they had sat with him, and so knew that no amount of begging would get the man to budge. One by one, they scattered, off to play or to find their parents in the busy crowded market square. Belladonna sat there and watched them leave, not certain why she felt so disappointed; she hadn't even heard the first part of his tale. Eventually, she stood and brushed off her skirts.

“You are not one of my regular audience,” the old gentleman looked up at her, as she was the only one who hadn't left yet.

“No,” she agreed affably, pleased he had struck up a conversation with her. “I’m not from here.”

“Are you on a journey?” 

Smiling, she nodded. “Yes, an adventure, in fact!”

“Well, I’d love to hear about it, Miss…I don't believe I caught your name.”

“Quite right, how rude of me! My apologies, good sir, I am Belladonna Took.” She curtseyed to him. 

“Miss Belladonna Took, an excellent name for an adventurous spirit, and an excellent disposition for a hobbit!” he praised her, nodding his approval even as he stuck the end of a long pipe between his teeth. 

She laughed. “No, sir, I’m afraid you’ve got us all wrong! Hobbits are respectable folk who do not seek out adventures.”

“Then what are you?” he squinted as though he couldn't quite see her clearly enough. 

“An unrespectable hobbit.” She annunciated, stuffing her hands into her pockets and rocking back and forth on her feet. 

His bark of laughter made her smile widely. “Well, then, Belladonna Took. Tell me about this adventure you’re on.”

And so Belladonna did. She told him about the fireflies she would see on her way back to the Shire, and about the star flowers that they secretly lived in when the sun had set and all had gone to sleep. She told him about the disagreeable merchant and how he would be the villain of the story she planned to tell. Gandalf listened intently and did not speak until she had finished. 

“Tell me,” he began after taking the smoke-pipe out of his mouth. “Do you imagine adventures every time you visit Bree?”

She did not come to Bree often but that was hardly the point. “And when I pick apples in the orchards, or fish in the stream, or garden at my neighbour’s home. It may be small, but then, so am I. And small adventures feel like big ones to those who are small.” She told him with a firm nod.

Taking a deep draw of his pipe, he waited for a moment. When he opened his mouth again, it was to blow a rink of smoke towards her. She moved a little bit so it would go around her head since her mother was not there to scold her for being so much of a faunt at her age.

“I think you’re wrong, Belladonna Took,” he finally replied. “I think you are not small at all, but rather very big.”

And Belladonna had to think about that. The lass decided she didn’t understand what he meant, but that was okay because she had a feeling that this man never spoke in such a way which could so easily be understood. 

“There is a reason why I have come to Bree,” he told her, his voice hinting at something exciting. 

Her nose twitched a bit in curiosity, as was her habit. “Why have you come, Mister Gandalf?” she demanded with a huff after the man hadn't followed up on his statement for a bit too long.

“I wish to find someone with which to share an adventure.”

And from that moment on, her life was never the same. She had made the return trip to the Shire empty-handed to deliver to news to her family. She was leaving and she did not know if or when she would be back so no need to wait up for her. Her only surviving elder brother, Isumbras had just sighed and grumbled about her impropriety and how she lacked a sense of responsibility. She had ignored him. Her other siblings had been excited at the prospect and asked to go with her. She had cajoled them. Her mother, Adamanta Took turned a rather impressive shade of purple and stormed at her daughter, telling her that no respectable hobbit would just off and leave their home with no warning or proper reason. She was the Thain’s daughter and certain things were expected of her behaviour. She had turned to her father. Gerontius Took had just laughed and told his wife that Belladonna had been born a Took, and people had certain expectations of one who carried that surname, regardless of position.

Belladonna had said goodbye by letting them all know that she was by no means a respectable hobbit and would prefer they wouldn't tarnish her Took name by accusing her of being so. Adamanta had been worried about her potential suitors abandoning her for a hobbitess with more sense. Belladonna had replied that if that happened, it would be an unexpected bonus to her excursion. If no gentle-hobbit wanted anything to do with her after an adventure than she decided that no gentle-hobbit would do.

With a smile on her face and pack on her back, she’d trotted out of the Shire to where Gandalf waited for her. And together, they went on an adventure. Then two. Then three. Then four. Little to her knowledge, Belladonna Took had changed the course of the world by talking to a strange old man in a pointy hat. The future would never be the same. 

And Arda would be better off for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Belladonna struggles with how to raise her unorthodox child. So she helps him the only way she knows how to: with love and support. Baggins, however, isn't so understanding. Head-over-heels-in-love with his wife he may be, but he's starting to realize just how over his head he might be.


	2. In Which Bilbo is Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belladonna isn't sure what to do to help her strange child, so she looks after him in the only way she knows how to help: with love and support. Bungo Baggins, however, isn't so understanding. Head-over-heels-in-love with his wife he may be, but he's starting to realize just how over his head he might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take into account the difference between hobbit years and human years when reading. Hobbits reach full maturity at the age of thirty-three, so their development is slower than a human's would be.

When Bilbo Baggins was born, the entire Shire heaved a sigh of relief. Finally! Belladonna Baggins née Took would settle down with her husband Bungo Baggins and the tarnish on the polite society of gentle-hobbits would slowly disappear as gossip fodder faded. Why it never occurred to them to worry about her offspring, Belladonna didn't know. They should have been. 

Her adorable son was born on the 22nd of September in the year 2890 in the house that Bungo had gifted Belladonna as a courting gift. The birth had been easy for toughened Belladonna. She had had bug bites that hurt more than childbirth. Or so she’d claimed whenever she was asked. Bungo would quietly remark that he should take great care to keep her away from insects lest he lost his hearing before his time. 

She had been the loudest thing the Shire had ever heard, he was sure; though, no one ever dared make comment. The baby hobbit himself had been much less noisy. Bilbo had scrunched his little face in distaste and curled his toes but that was all. No squealing or screaming had occurred other than a bit of unhappy grunting. Bungo was ecstatic, telling her that their son surely took after his side more than hers because, they both agreed, no Took could ever be accused of quietly bearing discomfort. 

However, this was not the case; her husband was sorely mistaken. Belladonna had worried over the child during his early years especially. From the start, his eyes had been a bit too aware, staring blankly at whatever was in front of him. Sometimes, she would find him in his cradle, with silent tears running down his face and the most confused, wide-eyed look she'd ever seen on either faunt or adult. She would just hold him close, but even then all the infant would do was sniffle and rub his face on her shoulder. 

The crying stopped altogether within the first year. Even as worry niggled at both of them, neither would say anything but that Bilbo was a quiet child when asked about it. And that was true. He never cried or screamed or woke them at all hours of the night. All the other new parents in the Shire were terribly jealous. But Belladonna knew better than to think the Shire had just had a white dove added to its ranks. This was her son, after all, and there was a certain spark in his eyes that she couldn’t wait to nurture.

“When are you going to start speaking to me, my little Took?” she would ask him after he’d not spoken a peep during the second year. “I know I’m in there somewhere.”

And Bilbo would just stare at her and open and close his mouth experimentally, and maybe, if she was lucky, move his little pink tongue around. When she asked him this again when he was finished teething, she had nearly dropped him in astonishment when he replied with a deliberate slowness she didn't know a four-year-old could be capable of. 

“I had a bit of growing to do,” he had pronounced carefully, his tongue tripping on the words.

“Ahh,” she managed to get the words out. “I see.”

She didn’t. But that was okay because she figured that Bilbo would tell her what he meant when he was ready to. Hearing his high-pitched little voice had sent all sorts of butterflies flurrying around her stomach in excitement. She prayed to Yavanna that evening and many a night after to thank her that her child was healthy. 

As Bilbo continued to grow, he showed strange behaviour. It was normal to see little curly heads bobbing about in fields or down the lane as they ran to find their next snack in between flower-picking and games, but the curly golden mop that belonged to her son was never one of them. Instead, one owuld be more likely to find him in the privacy of the forest, 'training' or studying a book he had nicked from his father's library. When she’d asked him why he was training, he would tell her that he only had forty-five years and that he needed to be more prepared this time. Why a faunt no larger than a watermelon was thinking about what he would be doing forty-five years in the future, Belladonna didn't know. 

"For what?" she ahd finally queried one day, no longer able to repress her curiosity.

He'd gifted her with a smile that was a strange mix of sad and excited and then replied, “an adventure, mother.”

Belladonna had known _exactly_ what to do. She went deeper into the forest that day, and when she returned, she had done so with a few sturdy and straight sticks. She had gotten to work that evening with a carving knife as she sat in front of the fireplace in the parlour. When Bungo had returned that evening from his work as her father's assistant, he had noticed what she held.

Eyes brightening, he smiled. “Ah, are we roasting something over the garden fire pit tonight? Those are a bit too thick for sausages, my dear.” He said fondly as he hung his coat. 

“Indeed,” she agreed. “They are not for roasting anything, and there is dinner in the stone oven.”

“Oh? Whatever is it for?” he leaned down and kissed her temple before walking quickly to the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

“A chicken pot pie,” she tilted her head up for the kiss without looking up from her work. “I’m making practice swords for Bilbo, you, and I.”

There was a loud clatter from around the corner and a beat of silence. Bungo popped his head around the round hall connecting the kitchen to the parlor. “I’m sorry what?”

At least he had been listening. Belladonna knew he thought he’d misheard her. “I’m making practice swords for Bilbo, you, and I. Oh, and don't worry dear," she turned in her chair with a brilliant smile. "We'll get to the spear, axe, and bow later on as well. You have nothing to worry about! We have forty-five years, apparently.”

Bungo was alternating between being red as a tomato and pale as a sheet. “You’re— teaching our son how to—”

“Hmm?” she carefully slid the knife along the stick and peeled the thin bark off. Gandalf had taught her how to do this for walking sticks. Until they could go to Bree and get real swords that were balanced, these would have to do. 

“Belladonna!” he exclaimed with a hint of panic in his tone. He was going for angry, but it came out as fearful. Bungo rarely raised his voice, so of course, she looked up from her work with an expression entirely too innocent.

“Hmm?”

Crossing his arms and tapping one of his feet quickly against the wood floors, he glared at her. “Don’t you ‘hmm’ me,” his perfect imitation while still managing to sound irritated really was impressive. “You’re corrupting our child!”

She snorted. “‘Corrupting’?” she asked, incredulously. “He’s a Took!” she rejoiced with a laugh, returning her attention to her work, more eagerly than before. 

“He’s a _hobbit_, Belladonna!” her husband scolded. “Best not to give him grand ideas of glory and adventures that are meant for big-folk. He’s too small, he won’t develop a healthy fear to protect him for when he's older!”

She shook her head, grinning as she finally understood Gandalf’s words from all those years ago. “No, my love. Bilbo is not small. He is _big_.”


	3. In Which Bilbo Is Open For Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Bilbo grows, he sticks out staunchly from the other fauntlings of the Shire. While he cultivates his interest in politics and his pursuits in business acumen, Belladonna cultivates her passion of meddling.

When Belladonna next traveled to Bree, she bought books on swordsmanship, reading them most avidly much to her poor husband’s dismay. But Bungo was still head over heels for the spontaneous woman and he had to admit to himself even if he wouldn’t to anyone else, that it had been part of her allure. He never knew what to expect from her and he privately enjoyed her surprises. That is when it didn’t concern the wellbeing of their son; in that regard, he was feeling in over his head.

As it turned out, Belladonna was not familiar with the spear, axe, bow,  _ or _ sword. But she had thrown herself into swordsmanship with her son, even if Bungo had declined to join them. Bilbo didn’t seem to mind. He would just grin at his father and ask if he wanted to watch. Bungo never did. It was frightfully startling whenever the wood would crack together and they both moved faster than his heart or his eyes would keep up with. So, mother and son would go it alone atop the hill Bag End was settled in. 

Belladonna began to train with Bilbo when she had the time to spare from her duties in Bag End and as the Thain’s daughter. Exercise, she discovered, was an excellent way to take out any frustrations she might be feeling. Beyond that, she thoroughly enjoyed spending the time with her son, as he seemed to value her company in a way that no one else did. He was a good listener, and an attentive conversation partner; acutely attuned to her emotions. And perhaps she was the same with him. While there had always been a sort of sad cloud surrounding him, there was a gentle sort of peace there too beyond the thoughtful expression he usually sported. They would talk for hours about things no one else would speak on in the Shire. Of philosophy, adventures, other fey-folk, and the darkness that Bilbo seemed especially concerned about. 

This melancholic knowledge he seemed to hold about him was something she desperately wished to speak to him about, though she wasn’t sure she should ask. She may have a young soul, but it was dreadfully apparent to Belladonna that Bilbo’s was older than dirt. There was the occasional grin, a snort or laugh when someone cracked a joke, but it was as though he had to warm up to them first instead of carrying the trust inherent in faunts. With the way listless sort of way he carried himself when he wasn’t distracting himself with training, she’d say he was in mourning if she didn’t know better. 

“Bilbo,” she finally approached the subject one day. “Why do you—” but she couldn’t ask for some reason. The words didn’t want to come out and she found that she didn’t want them too either. He was smiling and happy right now as they lounged in the grass. He was a faunt of ten now and he was looking more and more like his father each day. “Why do you think you’ll go on an adventure in forty years?”

Those old eyes turned towards her and his smile became a little secretive. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell you,” he told her, walking on his knees until he was close enough to wrap his arms around her neck to give her a peck on the cheek. Then he just held her close, clutching her tightly. 

And Belladonna knew with a certainty that surprised her that perhaps, her son had done all of this before. She did not say it out loud. She just smiled and held him tightly, thinking that she would take great care to listen to her child when he spoke. 

The next year, two major events happened. The first was that Bilbo had started to take an interest in politics, much to the delight of Belladonna’s father and her husband. He was going twice a week to sit and learn with them in the Thain’s office. He loved old maps and history, and he took notes in the most beautiful penmanship. Soon, though, Bilbo wished to branch out further and learn about the politics of the surrounding areas, not just of the comings and goings of the Shire. 

At first, Gerontius and Bungo had been hesitant, but within the year, Bilbo himself had established a more open relationship with the human towns around them. Opening trade had been a challenge, as most hobbits tended to be suspicious of big-folk by nature. But Bilbo had set up a market in Hobbiton based off of a ‘retail’ concept. 

Retail was apparently when Bilbo would go to craftsmen or merchants and buy a significant portion of their wares. Then, he would turn around and sell it for slightly more. The idea was that because the hobbits wouldn’t have to pay for someone to go to Bree for their supplies, they would be willing to pay the extra expense. As long as Bilbo didn’t charge too highly, all would be fair and good.

The idea had taken capital to build the infrastructure. After all, he would have to have the money to buy the wares first. So, Bilbo took out a loan from his grandfather, promising that even if his idea did not work, he would go to work in the fields to pay him back. Gerontius had agreed, and thus Bilbo had been entrusted with the money to put his grand ideas in place. 

When asked how he came up with the idea, he’d turned away and said he’d read it in a book a long time ago. Belladonna had stopped her father and her husband from questioning him further. Bilbo wasn’t to be pressured at present. He was simply to grow strong and heal from whatever wounds he carried from whatever ‘before’, as she called it, there was. She did not share this thought with them though. She kept this knowledge close to her heart. 

He purchased things that were useful to hobbits. Things that they used on a daily basis. Necessities seemed to be what he was seeking. With summer ending, plans were being made to send people to Bree that autumn to get the necessary supplies. But before anyone could go out and get them, Bilbo had set up his little market under the party tree. 

Belladonna had wanted to help. So, she decided to go down to see what was what in the market. It consisted of three booths. One held household goods, all manner of soaps and cleaning agents, new mop, duster, and broom heads, as well as a few beautifully carved wooden boxes for holding toiletries. The second booth across from the first held food items. Mostly canned and dried, but also a few crates of root vegetables, which would store nicely in a cellar during the winter. The third booth faced both the others, and eleven-year-old Bilbo sat behind on a chair, elbow on the table, chin in his hand. He looked worried. 

“Well, hello, Bilbo,” she smiled. 

He perked up, and she noticed his legs swing under the table. “Hello, mother!” he responded brightly. “Are you here to shop?”

“Why yes,” she decided quickly. “Do you have anything to wear that smells nice?”

He hopped down from the chair he was sitting on and nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, right in here.” 

She smiled when he went in front of her to lead her so he wouldn’t see it. He was trying hard not to be too eager, and it was a rare adorable moment. It was a table she hadn’t noticed before. It was covered in neatly organized drawstring bags. The smell in the tent was pleasant. 

“These are  _ Pleasant Pouches _ ,” he said proudly. “See, there are labels at the back of the table telling you what is what.”

Indeed there were. They had charming names attached to them.  _ ‘Summer Wind’ _ ,  _ ‘Peaceful Evening’ _ ,  _ ‘Father’s Study’ _ ,  _ ‘Mother’s Parlor’ _ ,  _ ‘Autumn Colours’ _ ,  _ ‘Spring Mist’ _ , and  _ ‘Winter Delights’. _ She picked one up and brought it to her nose. 

“They’re very useful,” he hurried to say. “You can just carry them on you and that’s what you’ll smell like, or bathrooms or you can put them in dirty laundry baskets, or even in washing water to make clothes smell good!

After she’d sniffed each one, she turned to where he was pensively standing, shifting from foot to foot. “Where did you find such a wonderfully clever thing?”

And then, something happened that had never happened before. The boy blushed. From the tips of his ears to the tip of his nose he turned bright red. Fidgeting, he mumbled, “I’ve been making them.”

Belladonna was stunned. Bilbo looked up when she didn’t say anything, looking worried. But his mother did not give him much time to keep frowning. She picked him up in her arms and swung him around, carefully, so as not to knock anything over. 

“Bilbo, you’re amazing!”

Then Bilbo was laughing too but crying just a tiny bit. She set him back on the ground. He wiped his eyes resolutely and gripped his suspenders with tiny fists. “So, are you interested in buying any?”

“I must buy as many as I’ll want, then. As soon as the other hobbits hear about this they won’t last for long.” She told him. “I want one of each. No! I was two of the  _ ‘Summer Wind’ _ .” She revised hastily, snatching it up as though there was someone else standing nearby about to buy them all. 

She purchased them from a glowing Bilbo and hurried back up the hill to Bag End. She placed them carefully, lovingly throughout her house, so proud of her son. Putting one of the  _ ‘Summer Wind’ _ ones on her person, she left Bag End, feeling quite determined. 

The only reason no one had gone to Bilbo’s little market was that they did not know about it. She would change that. And indeed, she did. She stopped and talked to neighbors until they noticed the pleasant aroma was not from the fresh air but form her, and then she would make a big show about being hesitant to tell them. She would liken it to a hobbit’s berry-patch, never to be divulged. But because they were friends and because Belladonna loved to collect favors, she would conspiratorially tell them that her son had set up a little-known market under the party tree selling these wonderful little things called  _ ‘Pleasant Pouches’ _ . And off they would go. 

Bilbo made enough money that day to pay his grandfather back for most of the loan, insisting that he was a business hobbit now, and would pay interest as well because it was the respectable thing to do. Belladonna had collected enough favors that day to be well on her way to Shire-domination. Both felt it was a delightful success. 

Not all his wares had sold, and Bilbo had taken notes on which ones did well and which ones did not. His Pleasant Pouches were his best sellers and were gone before the sun went down. Close behind those were the pleasant soaps from a town to the north called Fornost. Canned food had been much appreciated, and he’d almost sold all of those as well. The hobbits liked the idea that they wouldn’t have to can everything themselves, nor pay someone else a handsome fee to go to Bree for them. Bilbo’s business venture was a success, and Belladonna had a feeling he would continue to be one.

The second great event was that Gandalf came to call. Gandalf had been absent from her life for well over a decade now. But seeing as he was an ancient wizard, she suspected time did not mean the same thing for him as it did for her. He’d seemed surprised when Belladonna had introduced her son to him and told him how old he was. She had bragged about everything he was doing and all he had accomplished. 

He had squinted at Bilbo and asked, “have we met before?”

Bilbo had smiled but hadn’t answered. 

Gandalf stayed in the area for a few months. The wizard needed a keeper. When Bilbo had not-so-subtly handed him a  _ Pleasant Pouch _ , Belladonna had laughed. Her son was hilarious. And right. Gandalf did smell dreadful. The poor man didn’t know what to make of the scene, as he did not know the pouches' intended purpose. Bilbo had given him one for his bath later that evening as well. 

“Belladonna,” Gandalf pulled his friend aside one evening after he had been in the Shire for two months. “Has Bilbo always been so… hmm,” he paused, “I can’t quite find the word. So yes, but no, and spring, but winter, and Baggins, but Took, so small, but big?” 

She nodded. “Yes. Bilbo is very big indeed.” She looked at the small child in question. 

He was reading another report on Bree politics, sitting beside his father. The resemblance was uncanny. The faunt glanced up and grinned at them. 

“Well,” Gandalf nodded. “It’s settled then.”

“What’s settled?” Belladonna asked but felt like she already knew.

“I’ll be taking Bilbo on an adventure someday.”

“He’s already training.” She told the bemused wizard. 

“Good, good, very good indeed.”

And it was. Because she had everyone she loved whole and well and safe. But she suddenly wondered how long it would stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo falls ill to memories and loss. When he recovers, there's no power on middle earth that could stop him from trying to change fate. The only question is will he succeed?


	4. In Which Bilbo Remembers a Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo falls ill to memories and loss. When he recovers, there's no power on middle earth that could stop him from trying to change fate. The only question is will he succeed?

Bilbo knew few things for certain. He knew he was a child. But he also knew that before he’d been a child, he’d been an elderly hobbit in a place called Valinor. That hobbit was Bilbo. His memories were somewhat disjointed, and some things were missing. He hadn’t the slightest idea on how to get them back, as he didn’t know what to look for in this mind to prompt them. 

He had a lot of time to think as a baby between his hefty napping and eating schedule. His mind was about as cooperative as his body. It was a strange mix of being aware of his past memories, but also being aware that he didn’t care and all he wanted was to sleep and nurse. Until the memories became clearer and he saw just how dark they were. 

There was an ancient sense of loss that he carried within him. He often wondered who had once filled the gaping holes that riddled his heart and weighed heavily upon his spirit. The loss he felt as akin to losing one's kin, and it frustrated him that he couldn't remember their faces or anything about them. 

He’d also had a trinket that turned him invisible but also ate at his mind and soul. Again, his knowledge of this was a bit spotty. Where he'd gotten it or what it was he couldn't say. He only knew that he’d not been able to part with it until his latter days, but when he did, he’d given it to someone called Frodo for safekeeping. While it had no longer been his burden to carry, this Frodo had suffered deeply because of it. It was an evil thing that drew madness from its holder. The guilt had been overwhelming and so had been the pain. Not only emotional pain but physical pain; he hadn't always been unable to organize his thoughts and think in a muddied lack of clarity. It was the result of this item he'd carried before. 

There had been a lot of tears of frustration and sorrow. He’d done his best to hide them from his attentive mother but he knew it was no use. 

His eyes had been blurry for the first period of time that passed. He remembered wondering if he’d been reborn as another hobbit without ever seeing Yavanna’s garden. Eventually, blessedly, the fog of his vision made way for focused clarity. His eyes had developed enough for him to make out the face of his mother. To his astonishment, he recognized her. It was Belladonna. _ Bilbo’s _ mother. 

After having a minor panic attack that was misconstrued by Belladonna as hunger, he settled down and allowed himself to be comforted with sucking the milk from the bottle. If his mother was still Belladonna, the Belladonna who's fate was fuzzy to him, then there were only two possibilities. Either Bilbo's mother had given birth to another child that she also named Bilbo, or Yavanna had given him a second chance. 

As time wore on it became more and more apparent it was the latter. He wouldn't let this gift go to waste. If only he could remember everything that had happened in the Before! 

But he was not Bilbo from before anymore. He was the Bilbo now. And that meant that he had a lot of big emotions and a tiny body that could not suppress them. He knew because his mother’s eyes seemed to see everything. He grew and trained, and still, his heart and mind remained firmly planted in childhood. 

_ Are these memories me, or someone whom I might become? _ He wondered often. 

“I don’t want to become that,” he said out loud, remembering how often he had reached for the ring in those memories and how much he had hurt Frodo by passing the responsibility to him. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes.”

Maybe the ring had something to do with the state of his deteriorated mind. He was over one-hundred-and-thirty years old, for heaven’s sake! He did not need to rely on a mother’s warmth or feel bound to the duty of keeping that smile on her face. He was a very old adult. But even as reminded himself firmly of this, his eyes watered in frustration. 

“Bilbo!” Belladonna called, climbing up on top of Bag End’s hill to where he was practicing with his sword. 

He turned and smiled as he did whenever he saw her. “Come inside!” she called. “It’s getting chillier out here. They say we’re going to have a hard winter.”

Bilbo made to follow, but his knees suddenly gave out and his head felt like it was being crushed. He gripped his ringing ears and cried out in pain as a memory like an arrow shot through him. Pain, sharp and real pierced his skull. A Fell Winter. A great loss. Loneliness. Heartache. Mourning. Mother. Father. Mother. Mother. Mother!

He hadn’t registered that Belladonna has screaming or that he was clutching him tightly. He clutched her back and began to sob as memories flooded him. An empty house. A barren pantry. A study that no longer smelled like father and a parlor that no longer smelled like mother. Or maybe, it was a Bag End that no longer smelled like home. Wolves. Hunger. Funerals. Greedy relatives thinking they could fool him because he was too young to know what they were doing. Tears. The last of mother’s cooking. Pillows that no longer smelled like them. Coats that hung, unused. No one coming home and night, and no fire set to warm the hearth. And empty heart, and then empty home…

Bilbo felt like he couldn’t get enough air into his body. 

“Breathe!” his mother begged. “Please, my son, just breathe!”

His father was there too, wringing his hands and panicking. Their worry soothed him. They couldn’t worry so hard if they were dead. _ I can change things this time, _ he thought desperately. 

“What did he say?” Bungo demanded, unable to hear him over his own frenzy.

Belladonna seemed to calm. “He’ll be all right, Bungo; just help me get him inside.”

Bilbo’s awareness from that point on came in and out of focus for the next three days. Belladonna soothed her husband and told him it was a fever. It was the first time she’d felt the need to lie to him. Bungo had been so worried about his son. The man only wanted the absolute best for his family, so why didn’t Belladonna feel like she could say anything? She didn’t dwell on it for long. 

She sat beside Bilbo and held his hand as he slept. Sometimes it was fitful while others it seemed like he wasn’t alive at all. She would be scolding him as soon as he recovered for all the white hairs he was giving her. 

_ If only Gandalf were here, _ she’d thought miserably, but knew she wouldn’t have said anything to the wizard either. It wasn’t her tale to tell, and as Bilbo hadn’t yet confirmed her theory she had no basis for except motherly-intuition. She just prayed he would recover from whatever was ailing him.

Bilbo did recover. One night he had been vomiting and suffering from night terrors, and the next morning, he was found sitting in the rocking chair next to the bed, putting his traveling clothing on. 

“Bilbo Baggins, just where do you think you’re off to?” she asked severely. “You need your rest!”

“I have no time for _ rest _, mother; I’m fighting against fate’s will!”

Then he’d attempted to stand and stalk past her. She’d easily shoved him back into bed and divested the youth of all the extra layers he’d put on. He’d protested until she threatened to use him as target practice with her bow. The arrows were blunted, but it would still hurt badly enough. 

As it was, Bilbo had to wait for an entire week before his mother allowed him to walk about unassisted. Never mind going into Bree as he’d planned. He’d been allowed to man his market but he was sold out of most of his wares and needed to refresh them. That is what he’d told her. She’d told him he was lying and that he had enough for at least one more market day, and since market day only came once a week, he could wait another week before going. 

“I need to go now!” he’d insisted, eyes welling with tears as he tried to tear out of her tight hold. He’d never behaved this way before.

“What for?” she asked. 

He struggled harder, so she tightened her grip and knelt before him. 

“What for?” she shook him a little to get his attention. 

He swallowed hard. “The Fell Winter,” he whispered. 

Her grip loosened in her shock, but he didn’t spring away. A Fell Winter was akin to a death sentence for at least half of their community. They hadn’t had one in over a century, but Belladonna had heard the horrors of it from her grandfather before he’d passed.

“I have to fix it. I have to change fate,” he pleaded with his eyes.

She stared at him for a full minute. He was so determined, his haunted eyes holding none of the childlike innocence and all of the frustration of adolescence. “Are you certain?” she questioned quietly. 

He nodded glumly. 

“Then we’ll go today.”

And they didn’t speak another word about it. They took a pony-pulled wagon this time instead of the handcart they usually used. Her father hadn’t questioned why they would need it when he saw the look in her eye and had lent it to them with ease. They left as soon as they could. 

The journey was unremarkable, both of them sitting in pensive silence. She would watch over her son and observe what he did. Belladonna would use this as a test of sorts. If a Fell Winter did not come, then she would take him to Gandalf and the wizard would know what to do. What would be worse; if her son was ill in the head or if he was right about the tragedy at their doorstep?

They reached Bree well after nightfall and weren’t able to barter at the markets until early the next morning. Bilbo bought most of the preserved food that was being sold as well as pantry staples that wouldn’t go bad like flour, honey, salt, and baking powder. 

None of this surprised Belladonna. What caught her off guard was when he ventured into the smithy. She followed him, watching as he ignored all the humans watching him curiously. Belladonna ignored the men telling her to take her child out and that a smithy wasn’t a toy store. Bilbo had never gone into a toy store in his life.

Her son made a beeline to the back of the shop, expertly avoiding being stepped on or getting in the way. Her attention was firmly on the ground watching out for sharp metals. As far as she was concerned, everyone else could just move out of her way. When she rounded the tall table to see what her son was so intent on finding, she was even more confused. There were four dwarves at smaller workspaces. One of them, a read headed dwarf with a thick mustache turned around with a dull sword held across both hands. He started. 

“Excuse me,” Bilbo stood up as tall as he could. “I’m in need of a smith. Can I make an appointment to speak with one of you today at your earliest convenience?” 

Belladonna pinched her lips tightly so she wouldn’t laugh. Bilbo’s vocabulary was quite at odds with his small stature and high voice. Perhaps she'd been wrong, and Bilbo really was an angel.

The dwarves all looked at him, a bit stupefied. It was obvious that they were given the less desirable jobs from the looks of what they were working on. Likely, it was a rare occurrence when someone would seek out their particular skills. 

The one with the sword scowled. “We’ve not got time to entertain a customer ‘oo can’t pay,” he said gruffly. 

Belladonna stepped forward in defense of her son. “I assure you he can. Please treat him as any respectable customer.”

Bilbo looked at her with relief. There was a hint of adoration in his gaze too. Belladonna combed her fingers through his hair in response. 

“Aye, very well then. I’ll make time now. What is it you’re wanting us to make, little halfling?”

“Swords. Light enough and small enough for hobbits to use, but sturdy enough to kill beasts.”

“Beasts?” The dwarf’s eyebrows raised. “Ye been havin’ trouble where ye live, youngling?” 

Belladonna swore she could almost hear Bilbo’s thoughts. _ We will be. _

At that moment, she decided that it didn’t matter is Bilbo was right or wrong. He absolutely believed that a Fell Winter was coming and that they would have trouble with wolves. What kind of mother would she be if she didn’t make sure her son could fight off the darkness, even if that darkness was only from night-terrors?

“Wolves. Large ones. I need traps too.”

“Why ask us?” Another of the dwarves who sported an impressive black beard questioned. 

“It’s common knowledge that dwarves have good smithy sense and they know secrets from the mountains that humans do not,” Bilbo said, the maturity of his words belied by how young he sounded. “You are also closer to the size of a hobbit and will understand the necessary weighting in a way bigger-folk won’t.”

The redhead scratched his beard again. “Aye, lad. We’ll do it. How many units of each?”

While the specifics were discussed, Belladonna couldn’t help but notice that there were piercing glares coming from the human smiths in the shop. In response, she curled her lip up in a very un-hobbit-like snarl and hissed at them. They went back to their business. Bilbo turned at the sound he’d heard but she had already schooled her features. 

The dwarf with a black beard grinned, having witnessed the whole thing. “We’ve not even introduced ourselves,” he brought Bilbo’s attention back to them. “I’m Fallin, the redhead with the foul mood is Geary, the blond is Nando, and Bear is Bear. At your service!” Apparently, that was all that needed to be said about the latter. Belladonna had to agree. 

“This is my mother, Belladonna Took, and I am Bilbo Baggins.”

“Pleased to meet you, Fallin, Geary, Nando, and Bear.” She smiled. 

“Pleasure,” they all replied in completely different tones. It was hard to keep in the chuckle. 

“I want to pay half the money upfront,” Bilbo told them. 

They tried to hide their astonishment behind scowls and thick beards. 

“Why?” Geary queried rather rudely.

“Because I wish to establish a bond of trust between dwarves and the hobbits of the Shire. This winter will be hard on everyone there but come spring there will be much-needed repairs done to the structures of the smials.”

“Aye, laddie. We’ll make yer swords n’ traps.” Bear said quietly, a small smile on his face. It was the first time he’d spoken during their conversation. 

Bilbo beamed. “Thank you very much for your business!” he nodded smartly. 

Fallin tousled his curls with a grin. “Yer not the one that ‘spose to say that, we are!”

Bilbo put a thoughtful finger to his chin. “Are you sure?” he clarified after a moment. 

“Sure as spring rain!”

“Bother,” Bilbo tsked. “I’ve had it backward all this time.” He frowned up at Belladonna. “Why didn’t any of my customers tell me?”

Because it’s adorable. “Hobbits like to be polite,” she offered. 

“Hobbits like to laugh behind their hands.” He corrected with a scowl. 

And she couldn’t argue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, the Fell Winter comes upon them. While other winters bring warm hearths, celebrations, and snow for faunts to play in, the Fell Winter brings ice, hunger, frigid temperatures, and tragedy. They are being hunted.
> 
> A WARNING IN ADVANCE: Chapter Five is has a violent and extremely graphic scene. If you chose not to read that scene, read the notes at the end of Chapter Five to get a brief overview of what happened. You have been warned.


	5. In Which the Fell Winter Arrives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fell Winter comes upon them. While other winters bring warm hearths, celebrations, and snow for faunts to play in, the Fell Winter brings ice, hunger, frigid temperatures, and tragedy. They are being hunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
**For those of you who chose not to read this, I will include a brief note at the bottom telling you what happened**

Belladonna was careful to follow all her son’s instructions leading up to winter. They carefully distributed the long-lasting foods Bilbo had brought throughout Hobbiton. Their neighbors had been confused upon receiving his gift and then peeved when Bilbo directed them on how to store and ration it throughout the winter. 

These instructions had been given to each smial; whether or not they followed them was a completely different matter. Bungo hadn’t appreciated it. After all, a hobbit must have seven meals a day to maintain their optimal health and respectable girth. It was a matter of status amoung gentle-hobbits and a mark of good breeding and beauty. 

When Bilbo started decreasing the amount of meals he ate each day, Belladonna had made sure she did the same. Everything was made worth it one day when Bilbo took her hand, smiling up at her with a childlike trust she'd not seen on his face before. Bungo, however, had a different opinion on the matter. By the time they were down to three meals a day, her husband was fuming. 

“You’re coddling him, Belladonna!” Bungo accused one evening, pacing the dining room after their meager meal. “These are simply night terrors and you are feeding his fear by allowing him to act as though it’s real! I— I have  _ swords  _ in my home, Belladonna.  _ Swords. _ Not only that, but he’s handed them out at each household in Hobbiton! Where on earth did he get those?!”

“He paid for everything with his own money, Bungo. Let us see how this all pans out,” she’d advised coolly. 

“There are  _ wolf traps _ all over Hobbiton and the forest outskirts. What would happen if a faunt were to get caught in one?”

“While that may be a valid concern, everyone in the shire has been warned about them and so have their faunts. Bilbo even made helpful charts depicting where each one was for each smial.”

Bungo continued as though she hadn't spoken. “We have rangers to help us should anything unpleasant arise. Hobbits are not meant for such activities no matter what you Tooks say about it. Our family’s position in this community might be called into question if his unacceptable behavior continues. I’m hungry and upset, Belladonna!”

Hearing her name over and over again was beginning to wear her on her nerves. She rose to her feet, ignoring Bungo when he demanded where she was going. If he didn't know she would think him a simpleton. Bilbo was writing a letter in the study. From where he was, he had definitely heard the entire conversation. He did not look up when she entered. 

“To whom are you writing to?” she asked, carding her fingers through his hair as she often did when he needed comfort. 

“To Fallin, Geary, Nando, and Bear to thank them for their fine craftsmanship. They agreed to come to help repair the damages to our homes when the snow melts.”

“So why write them?”

“Well, I just thought it would be nice to take the time to be thankful.” 

They were silent for a few minutes, both of them busying their hands in their own ways. Belladonna was listening to the gentle scratching of the quill against the parchment, so she noticed when it stopped.

“I’m sorry that father’s mad at you,” he whispered.

“If he wasn’t cross with me over this, it would be something else.” She responded breezily, popping down to plant a kiss on his head. “So don't you worry about a thing. Now. Have you been practicing grooming your foot hair?”

The tips of his ears turned red. “Yes.”

“Let’s see, then.” 

“Mother!” he groaned, curling his feet further under the chair. “I am quite capable of handling the grooming on my own.”

“You don’t need to be so embarrassed, Bilbo, it’s normal for parents to help their faunts groom their foot hair until they are old enough to take on the task for themselves.”

“I can do it already! I don’t like it when people touch my feet,” he blushed again. 

_ Poor thing, _ Belladonna thought. 

A hobbit’s feet were a very intimate place. It was a vulnerable part of them that no hobbit liked to share. The hair on a faunt’s feet was soft and thing. When it was touched, Bilbo’s skin would prickle up almost painfully until puberty came and with it an entirely new sensation. That was a long way off yet, though. Since Bilbo seemed to have a relative pelt on each of his feet, she could understand why it would be unpleasant for him. 

“I won’t touch if you don’t want me to, but I would at least like to look to make sure you are taking good care of them.”

Bilbo had begrudgingly allowed it. He was actually quite good at grooming himself. She decided to give him the okay to do it on his won from now on. As a diligent boy, he would attend to it carefully. The smile he had beamed her with stayed with her long into the months when there were no smiles at all. 

Winter had come, and with it followed windstorms that rattled their windows, cold that froze the water in their pumps, and a darkness that made it feel like dusk at any hour of the day. The perpetual darkness was unsettling. Belladonna yearned to see the golden rays of the sun break through the clouds again. 

Not long into the month, the neighbors began complaining that food was growing scarce. Very few had followed Bilbo's directions and it was showing. On their visits to the people of Hobbiton, Belladonna noticed how wary the hobbits had grown of Bilbo. The foresight he'd exhibited in preparation for the Fell Winter was seen as something to be wary of. 

She could hear the whispers behind their backs when they thought she was wasn't listening. 

_ Stay away from that Bilbo Baggins, children. There's something not quite right about him.  _

She prayed her son wouldn't hear. 

_ Did you hear? The Baggins boy is a Sorceror.  _

_ Really? I heard he's possessed.  _

_ It's just unnatural, I tell ye. _

The words became crueler as time went on. 

_ What do you suppose Belladonna consorted with to make an abomination like that? _

_ I assure you, no Baggins could ever become such an off-putting creature, so it can't be Bungo's son.  _

_ Poor Bungo!  _

_ Aye, he has an unfaithful wife and the son of an aberrant living under his roof. He's a saint, I tell you! _

_ That Bilbo Baggins boy isn't a hobbit. He's some sort of monster. Stay away from him.  _

_ Don't say his name in the house! Yavanna, bless us with protection! _

_ No respectable hobbit would have such knowledge, it's not decent! _

_ Bilbo is no respectable hobbit. I don't even think he is a hobbit! _

_ Don't make eye contact! He might come over and speak to us.  _

_ Momma, what will happen we talk to Bilbo? _

_ We don't know for sure, but I heard the Tarry girl talked to him and fell ill with a blood-cough the very next day!  _

_ That can't be a coincidence.  _

_ No indeed. Do you think his Pleasant Pouches have some sort of foul magic about them too? _

_ I wouldn't risk keeping them around. They could be cursed. _

_ Momma I don't want to be cursed by the monster! _

Of course, Bilbo  _ had  _ heard them. She could tell because she watched the spark in his eye fade over time. His face would fall a little lower, his shoulders would curl inwards. He retreated farther into himself. Hearing his voice became a rarity, and his smile was nothing but a memory.

“This is worse than when they started calling me Mad Baggins,” he whispered. 

For Bungo's part, he had stopped complaining about the rationing of food once food because scarce. Sometimes, he would look at Bilbo with a speculative light in his eyes. When Bilbo would notice his father staring, he would look down quickly and make himself as unassuming as possible. Belladonna thought her heart might be breaking.

The second month passed and it was obvious they were faring a lot better than most of the Shire. In the third, they started recognizing days by if they were ‘eating days’ or not. They wouldn’t survive through the winter otherwise. Their faces grew thin and their tempers even thinner. 

Bungo would hibernate in his study throughout the days, reading old books and looking at maps. Bilbo, no longer welcome in that space, would sit on the floor next to Belladonna and wordlessly watch as she embroidered or sewed. The silence stretched between them, though Belladonna wasn't sure what the reason for it was. It almost felt as though there was something they were afraid of hearing them, so the only sounds to be heard were the howling wind outside and the gentle crackling of the fire.

The feeling of Bag End had changed little by little as their hunger increased and their water pipes froze. Gone were the days of reading in absolute contentment with each other. Now trapped in Bag End, unable to leave because of the accumulation of snow and ice, there was no avoiding the recent frigidness Bungo treated Bilbo with. Outwardly, Bilbo didn't appear to let it bother him. He'd taken on a mask of indifference that he hid behind more often than not. Belladonna missed her creative son. She would not let him suffer alone.

Enough was enough. She wouldn't stand by silently and let it happen any longer. It had gone on far too long already. Stalking into the study where her husband sat behind his desk, she pressed her palms against the wood. 

“Stop glaring at our son every time he walks into the room,” she hissed so Bilbo wouldn’t overhear. 

Bungo scowled, standing abruptly and slamming his book down on the table. “What am I supposed to do, Belladonna? That boy knows things that just aren’t right.” Then he whispered, “It’s not natural.” He shook his head and repeated, "it's not natural.”

He stood abruptly and left the room. Belladonna did not follow. For her husband may be a hobbit that follows where others lead and repeat what others have said, but Belladonna would be damned if she was the same.

The food wasn’t the only thing Bilbo turned out to be right about. (He’d had all sorts of suggestions for filling meals that took minimal ingredients as well was halting their training, so they didn’t induce unnecessary hunger.) He had been right about the wolves. 

The first night they heard them tearing through Hobbiton had been terrifying. They came so close to their home. Belladonna had grabbed the sword she now kept under her pillow and she and Bungo had listened to their snarling and heavy breathing. The ravenous creatures were just beyond their large windows as they passed by.

Belladonna squinted to try and see their shapes better, wondering how large they were. She edged toward the window, thinking to cup her hands against the glass. An unexpected light from behind her illuminated the shape close to the window. The snarling bark made her jump back and scream. The muzzle was so close to the window. It was  _ red.  _ Its golden eyes bore into her and it bared its teeth at her, barking viciously. It scrabbled against the grid-like slats that were nailed to the window frame, trying to break through. 

_ “PUT IT OUT, PUT IT OUT!” _ she shrieked at her clueless husband.

Just before the light faded, she could see it pulling at the wooden slats with a massive paw. She’d never been more thankful for Bilbo’s strange ability than she was at that moment, for he had been the one to insist upon boarding the windows.

“What in blazes was that?” Bungo breathed, falling backward onto the bed. 

Belladonna was still breathing hard from the fright. “That was one of the wolves our son warned us about, Bungo. And you just let them know that we’re inside.” She gasped, turning to run out of the room. “Bilbo!” she called softly, not wanting to attract any more attention than Bungo had already afforded them. 

Bilbo had heard the wolves too. For all his training and preparation, he was caught, frozen in abject terror when those yellow eyes focused on him. It had been loud as it threw itself bodily against his grid, growling and flinging its thick saliva against the panes. Bilbo screeched and scrambled to get under his bed, hugging the sword tightly to his chest. 

Belladonna rounded the corner and held back a terrified scream as she saw the dark shape slam up against her son's window over his bed. She ran into the room, hunching over as though that would protect her. Reaching under to where she knew he was, she grasped his arm and yanked her baby out. He slid across the floors with ease and nearly climbed her as they scrambled to get out of the room.

They found that for the following four days, the wolves stalked around their smial. They were trying to find a way it. The Baggins had taken to staying in the pantry, as it was the only room in the house with no windows that was large enough to accommodate them all. 

Perhaps they thought they were safe there. Maybe it was just their wishful hopes. Either way, they were woefully unprepared the night they finally broke through. They'd been sleeping restlessness on the floor of the pantry when Bilbo had woken up to a strange scratching sound. He groaned as he rolled over, reaching a hand out to find his mother's warmth. He wasn't ready to wake up yet. 

_ Scratch, scratch, scratch.  _

Bilbo's eyes flew open, fully alert. “Momma?” he shook her shoulder until she blinked at him. “Momma!”

“What's the matter?” she began to pull him close but he resisted. 

“There's a scratching noise! Listen!”

_ Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.  _

Belladonna gasped and ran from the room to find the source, ignoring BIlbo's cry of distress when she tore from his hold. She followed the sound until another sound mixed with it. Heavy panting. 

Her blood chilled in her veins and she bolted back into the pantry like there were hell hounds on her heels. Perhaps there were.

“Bungo, get up!” she shook him hard. “We need to barricade the pantry; the wolves are breaking in from Bilbo's room!”

Bungo was awake in an instant, his eyes clouded with panic. 

Bilbo let out a wail of fear and starting chanting under his breath. “Not again, not again, not again, not again!”

Belladonna had to take charge of the situation. She looked at Bungo. “We’re going to have to close ourselves in here. I don’t know how our neighbors are faring, but Yavanna willing, we’ll make it through the night.”

“Close ourselves in with what?” he demanded. “All the wood is outside!”

“Break down the furniture. The china cabinets are large enough to span from one side to the other.”

“Belladonna, those are family heirlooms! Isn’t there anything else?”

“There’s no time!” she barked viciously. 

“Momma, I want to help,” Bilbo whimpered, clutching at her skirts as she stood. 

He had never called her that before. “No, my darling, you stay right here and be a good boy, okay? We won’t be far.”

Bilbo nodded reluctantly, turning to unsheath his sword and Belladonna turned to drag her reticent husband along behind her. They made quick work of tearing off the backs of the china cabinets. Bungo made a sound of distress when his mother's sugar pot fell and shattered against the wooden floor. Belladonna ignored it and continued prying the wood off, using her sword as leverage. They carried them back to the pantry and Bungo started pounding the nails through. 

They had almost made it in time. Almost. The wolves broke through Bilbo’s wall and poured into the house. There were at least six of them. Belladonna stood front and center before the hole in their barricade, ready to use her sword. Bungo left his duty of hammering the boards in place and shrunk down behind her next to Bilbo, stricken with terror as the first one leaped through. Bilbo screamed for her while Bungo cried out. Belladonna felt its claws hooking into her shoulders. It yelped and curled back when it felt the sword plunge into its chest. 

Its carcass fell through the hole and into the room. Blood splattered across her clothing, hands, and the floor. She yanked her sword out and swung it again to deal the killing blow. This was a fight for survival against hungry and desperate predators. The only mercy to be given was a quick death. 

She couldn’t feel the pain yet; the adrenaline was running too high. She managed to dissuade three more from leaping through the hole before two smaller ones managed to get in at the same time. The wounded mother managed to keep one of them at bay, but the other had already unleashed its fury on the other occupants of the room. 

In a strange twist of fate, instead of targeting the rotund Bungo, it locked onto the skinny little boy instead. It could have been that Bilbo was seemed to be the weakest and thus, the easier target. Or maybe it was something else entirely. Bilbo found that the reason for it mattered very little in the face of long teeth and the smell of fresh blood on its breath. The scrawny wolf tackled him backward and was snapping its jaws towards his face. Bilbo had the sword across both hands, pushing back against its neck to keep its muzzle away. The palm that held the blade was bleeding. It excited the wolf. Bilbo wasn’t strong enough to keep him back forever. A lack of training and limited nutrition had assured that. His arms were trembling and the foul-smelling mouth dove towards his throat. 

In a moment of fatherly protectiveness, Bungo flung himself at the wolf that was attempting to rip out Bilbo’s jugular. They went tumbling. At first, Bungo had landed on top, but with no weapon nor aid, the wolf quickly freed itself and launched its body at its new opponent. Bungo’s eyes widened, mouth gaping open in a terrible silent scream as the wolf tore into his neck. Bungo looked right into Bilbo's eyes as it happened, eyes wide with shock and pain. Bilbo couldn't move or even cry out. He was frozen and unable to look away.

He would remember that sight for the rest of his existence. The worst thing about it was that his father was still alive for what seemed an eternity while the wolf began to devour him. And Bilbo sat there, unable to move. His mother was valiantly fighting the last wolf even when her body was slowing from the blood loss and his father was being feasted upon across the room from him. There was ringing in his ears and the only thing he could really hear was the sound of his own breathing.

The wolf looked up, jaw working. Its muzzle was stained red as those golden eyes stared impassively up at Bilbo as though it hadn't just stolen something precious from him. Droplets of blood dripped from the gore that hung out of its mouth. The little boy sucked in a gulp of air. Then he screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, mother and son deal with the fallout of the Fell Winter and how it's affected their lives. They must learn how to grieve for the loss of Bungo Baggins, and perhaps, for the friendships they've enjoyed as well.
> 
> What happened in this chapter: Bilbo is labeled as a monster by his fellow Shirelings due to his foresight of the Fell Winter, and worse, his father seems to agree with them. Later on in the winter, the Baggins are trapped inside their house because of the wolves trying to find a way in. They manage to keep them out for four days before the dig their way in. Belladonna bravely defends her family, taking the brunt of the assault. A wolf gets through their barricade, however, and attacks Bilbo. In a moment of parental protectiveness, he knocks the wolf off Bilbo. Unfortunately, Bungo had no weapon, so when the hungry wolf turned on him, there was no escaping death.


	6. In Which They Mourn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mother and son deal with the fallout of the Fell Winter and how it's affected their lives. They must learn how to grieve for the loss of Bungo Baggins, and perhaps, for the friendships they've enjoyed as well.

There would be no funeral lanterns and bells for Bungo Baggins. No flowers to plant in his grave garden. No gathering of friends and family to speak blessings onto his soul before Yavanna took him from them. There would be no ceremonial dances, nor would there be music played in his honor. There would be no returning of ashes to the ground for Bungo Baggins. Not until spring would thaw the thick ice on the ground; though not even spring could thaw the ice around their hearts. His death had been silent and terrible, it only made sense that what came after would be as well. 

They had been very lucky, the rangers had told them, to survive. If they’d been any later in finding them, Belladonna would have fallen and they would’ve have been joining Bungo in Yavanna's Gardens. Funny how neither Belladonna nor Bilbo felt lucky at all.

During the attack, Belladonna had lost a substantial amount of blood. The wild beauty of Hobbiton had lost the title during the attack. Terrible scars bunched and pulled the skin on the left side of her face. She had lost that eye as well, yet another thing to mourn. Her forearms had taken the worst of it, and one of the tendons had been severed in her right arm. Her waist had a deep and savage bite mark, and a far worse one on her thigh. 

None of those injuries would be what took the most time to heal, though. It would be her spirit. The shock and horror of being mutilated and having her husband die in front of herself and her child had taken its toll on her mental state. She lay still and unresponsive in the clinic bed for many days. Bilbo did not try to rouse her. 

As the days wore on to weeks, neighbors began trickling in to talk with Belladonna. Their first visitors had not been able to hide their horror or distaste upon seeing her new face, though they had tried. His mother had not bothered to reply back or even to look at them directly. Bilbo wished they would just leave. Or better, that they had never come in the first place. 

They did. Leave, that is. The problem was that they went back and told anyone who would listen about Belladonna and Bilbo's injuries. Soon, they had nearly the whole of Hobbiton coming out to see like they were some exhibit on display!

They brought hats, bonnets, and scarves in gay colors for Belladonna so she could cover her scars and the patch of hair that was missing from her head once she recovered. One woman had brought a skin-coloured cosmetic substance to be applied on the scars that would make them less apparent. Long gloves were brought as well to cover the experience that her arms had suffered. 

No one spoke to Bilbo at first. At least, not directly. They would talk about him plenty. Bilbo would watch from across the room on his sick-bed as his mother tried to give small smiles to thank everyone for coming. He wondered why no one could see her hands fisting in her lap and her smile shaking with the effort to hold it in place. 

It was better when they weren't talking to him, he decided. After one busybody had worked up the courage to speak to him, he suddenly found himself swimming in their disdain. 

They could not support his nature because it went against their beliefs. 

They could not shop at his market anymore because they could not risk being tainted. 

They really were sorry, but they could not support him as the heir to the Thain under the circumstances. 

They felt uncomfortable that Bilbo was so close with Gerontius; they did not want him to influence the current Thain, so it would be best if Bilbo did not interact with him anymore, _ for everyone's sake! _

They felt that Belladonna would be in a much better place to heal if she could have a break from motherhood, and didn't Bilbo want his mother to heal?

Their forwardness had been what had surprised him, not their words. As a faunt of the Shire, he could not be exiled. He could, however, be isolated. Bilbo wasn't sure if this was the reality that they were consciously trying to create for him, but it didn't matter.

He did not speak to them. He did not speak to his mother either. The healer, Tin, tried to coax words out of him, but Bilbo would just sit there, hands folded in his lap unobtrusively and stare straight ahead. 

He did not want to taint anyone. He just wanted to fix things. But perhaps, he himself was too broken to know how to. 

Everything was too big for Bilbo. And he felt very small. The beds that he and his mother occupied seemed to belong to giants. The floor was too far away and even the silverware was hard to get into his mouth. Bilbo was just a little faunt. He was too small for all these big things, big feelings, and big memories. The biggest thing of all was the memory of his father's death. It was the knowledge that he had known it was going to happen, so why hadn't he stopped it? 

Had he not known that wolves would attack the Shire in search of trapped prey? Had he not known both his parents would die by the viciousness of those wolves? Even if he hadn’t known exactly how or when it would happen, he should have done something further. If he’d only ignored his father’s grumbling and disapproving scowl. If he’d only he’d helped them barricade the pantry. The past was stark with clarity and failure, and the future marred with uncertainty. 

Bilbo's eyes did not want to focus or move. He thought that maybe he’d be happy if he never had to see anything ever again. But his mother’s laughing face came to mind and he pushed that thought away. He sat quietly, unmoving against their pillows the healer, Tin, had propped up behind him. 

A big hand landed in his curly hair and tousled it gently. “I’m especially worried about you, little one.” 

Bilbo wanted to lean into that touch. He’d never been one for physical affection because he remembered what he was before. But that didn’t matter now. He did not feel like a hobbit of one-hundred-and-forty-odd years. He felt like a little faunt of ten years, grieving the loss of a parent.

“Momma,” he whimpered from dry, chapped lips.

The healer sat down on the bed, his face coming nearer and into focus. He looked hopeful. “Would you like to go sit by your mother?”

Bilbo nodded. That’s what he needed. He wasn’t an adult, and he wasn’t big-folk, and this world was entirely too big for Bilbo to navigate on his own. He had such big feelings and such big thoughts, but his mind and body were just too small to hold them. 

The healer gently lifted his slack body into his arms and cradled Bilbo against his chest. Belladonna was wrapped up in more bandages than Bilbo was. Her wounds had been deeper than his and they'd started bleeding again recently so the bandages had to be put back on. While Bilbo had made it out of the attack with a deep cut on his hand and jagged claw marks down the fronts of his arms, torso, and temple, Belladonna had taken the worst of it. She’d been so brave. Braver than Bilbo thought he could ever be. 

“Momma?” he whispered.

She didn’t respond. Her breathing was uneven, and her brow was damp with sweat. She seemed to be sleeping, but even sleep couldn’t protect her from the pain she was suffering. Bilbo reached down towards her, nearly toppling out of the healer’s arms. Tin managed to catch him and lower him down gently, so as not to jostle either of his patients too much. Bilbo snuggled against her and kissed her sunken cheek, the one that was not wrapped with bandages What had once been plump and rosy with health was now pale, the skin stretched tightly around her head. 

“Lad, can you tell me your names?” the healer requested. 

Bilbo didn't know why he was asked since he knew Tin had heard the hobbits calling them by name.

“Bilbo Baggins,” he whispered. “Momma is Belladonna Took.”

“All right then, Bilbo. Are you in any pain?”

He nodded. “They sting.”

“I reckon they do,” Tin replied gravely. “You were very brave.”

But Bilbo shook his head. He had not been brave. He had been frozen with fear. The healer did not try to refute his claim. How could he? He wasn’t there. Bilbo stayed next to his mother for the next four days, gently stroking her hair and singing soothing Sindarin lullabies he’d learned while he’d lived in Rivendale in the Before. He hoped that they had at least some of the healing properties all elven songs carried, even if he was just a simple hobbit. 

“What are you singing, my little songbird?” she asked him on the fourth afternoon. “I hear your songs in my dreams.”

“It is a ‘get better’ song, Momma.”

She smiled wearily. “Thank you, Bilbo. I think they are helping.”

So he kept singing. If he was singing, he didn’t feel like he would start crying at any minute. He didn’t want to cry for his father. If he did, then Bungo truly would be dead, and Bilbo couldn’t keep imagining him pacing through Bag End, fretting over their wellbeing.

“Have you cried yet?” she asked, a week later. 

He shook his head.

“I haven’t either.”

“Are you sad?” he asked, seeing a far-away look in his mother’s eyes.

She did not answer right away. “I am sad about many things, Bilbo,” she finally admitted, sounding exhausted. 

“What are you sad about?” he asked, laying his head on her shoulder carefully. 

“I am sad for things that will never be, and for things that I should have said. Perhaps things would have happened differently in the end.”

“Aren’t you sad that father is gone? Won’t you miss him?” Bilbo was curious.

“I am sad that he is gone, he was a good sort of man.” Then she drew in a deep breath. “But I don’t think that I will miss him.”

And Bilbo had to ponder this for a while. “Didn’t you love him?”

Her eyes glazed over with that look he was beginning to realize was her withdrawal. “I don’t remember when I stopped.”

Bilbo didn’t say any more. The healer came into their room frequently, asking them questions and encouraging them to mourn. It was important to cry, Tin had told them. It honors the departed and soothes the soul. 

“We are mourning him, aren't we?” he asked his mother after Tin had left one night.

“Bilbo,” Belladonna murmured, her expression holding a weary smile and dull eyes. “You aren’t mourning your father,” she told him. 

Bilbo looked up at her and blinked in confusion. “But he’s gone,” he whispered. “And I saw it. He…he saved me, even though he didn’t like me.” By the time he was finished speaking, tears were rolling quickly down his face. 

“You aren’t mourning his loss, my songbird. You are mourning the loss of his love.”

He hiccupped to swallow the sob that rose in his throat. Was that right? “At the end…did he love me, momma?”

“He always loved you, Bilbo. You were his son.”

“But he didn’t like me.”

Belladonna did not make a habit of lying to her son and would not start now. “He did not know how to interact with someone who went against his ideals.”

“How can you love someone without liking them?” Bilbo sniffed, face crumpling as he began to sob against his mother’s lap. 

And Belladonna did not have an answer to that. “That’s a big question, my son.”

“I feel very small!” he gasped for air and his eyes burned with tears.

Belladonna let out a sound that was half and half a sob. “You are big, my little songbird. So, so big.”

And so they mourned their loss. The loss of a good-sort-of-man, the loss of what could have been, and the loss of Bungo’s love. Bilbo mourned strongly over the latter, as he felt deep in his heart that perhaps he hadn't had it in a long time and now would never have the chance to earn it. Belladonna mourned the loss of the friendship that had ended on their wedding night and the love that she's thought she'd had for him.

Spring came, and it was time to put their grief to rest, even if their hearts still felt brittle, like shattered ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Belladonna and Bilbo find that somewhere along the way, home has stopped feeling like home, and friends had stopped acting like friends. It may be time to leave. They find acceptance in those that are not of their kind but have been kind to them nonetheless.


	7. In Which They Navigate the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belladonna and Bilbo find that somewhere along the way, home has stopped feeling like home, and friends had stopped acting like friends. It may be time to leave. They find acceptance in those that are not of their kind but have been kind to them nonetheless.

Recovery was slow in coming to the hobbits. They were under constant threat of infection due to the nature of their wounds, and their fragile states of mind hadn't aided them either. News had come from the Shire. Orcs had been tearing through it. The fear had been instant and neither mother nor son slept without their swords close at hand; never mind they were all the way in Bree.

When Spring brought alone sunshine and greenery, they found themselves breathing more easily and sleeping through the night. Tin kept them another month before reluctantly letting them go. The healer had grown rather fond of the mother and son duo, and let them know that should they need it, he would help them if they were ever in a bind. As appreciative as they were, it was time to go home. 

Things would never be the way that they'd been before. Bother of them were scarred inside and out. Belladonna had hesitantly begun wearing the modest coverings whenever she dressed in the morning. Bilbo hadn't thought anything of it until he'd walked in to find her sobbing in front of the vanity, clutching a glove in her mangled hand.

“Is it shameful?” she whispered, shoulders shuddering with the force of her sadness.

Bilbo stomped over to her and tore the other glove off her arm and snatched the bonnet from her head. She protested and reached for them again, but Bilbo was smaller and more agile than she was at present. The fire had burned all the merrier for the gaily colored  _ garbage  _ BIlbo fed it with. And there was a lot to feed it. 

Belladonna sat down on the floor, watching silently as he used the fire poker to viciously stab at the offending fabric. Firelight danced in her eyes as she stared at it. 

Finally, she murmured, “they mean well, I suppose.”

“You suppose wrongly.”

And that had been the end of that. 

They had left the next morning, hand in hand. Belladonna did not wear a scarf or a bonnet as she walked down the lane, but she did not hold her head so high and she avoided the staring and whispering that flowed like an ocean wave as they passed. 

There was one place they had to visit before returning to the Shire. 

Even the sound of hammers clanging against metal couldn’t drown out the racket that Fallin, Geary, Nando, and Bear made when Belladonna and Bilbo had stepped into the smithy. While unsure what they were expecting walking into the craftsmen building, it certainly hadn't been  _ cheering.  _

“Well, that was quite unexpected,” the mother chuckled. 

“What was?” Nando, bless the poor fellow, looked confused. 

“Generally, hobbits don’t cheer when one is released from the healers.”

They looked aghast, and Bear looked downright mad! “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Don't they recognize your triumph?” Geary scowled. 

“Hobbits aren't like that,” her son educated them. “They send mother flowers and gifts, or they offer to do our Spring gardening. They also say that they are sorry for our loss.” He finished solemnly. 

“Are  _ ye  _ sorry for yer loss? Yer father is with ‘is maker now.”

Bilbo thought about it. “Yes, I am sorry for my loss.” He finally decided after a moment of pondering. “But I don’t understand why other people are sorry for my loss. Aren’t they crying because they’re sorry for their own loss of Bungo Baggins?”

Belladonna blinked. Her son was right, in a peculiar sort of way. 

“Well that’s why I was confused too,” Nando admitted, scratching his blond head. 

“An’ I see thar ye’ve got yourself some pretty new battle scars!” Fallin nudged Bilbo and grinned, showing off one on his face. “It’s the mark of a true warrior!”

Bilbo shook his head, ashamed. “I’m afraid mine are the marks of a coward.”

And coming from such a small person, it was a heartbreaking sentiment. Bear’s always-present scowl faded a bit from his face and he bent down so he was kneeling in front of the little faunt. 

"If all my scars came in moments of courage, then I'd have more courage than Mahal himself. Now I’ll let ye in on a little secret, lad.” He put a hand on Bilbo’s unwrapped shoulder. “Bein’ afraid does no’ make ye a coward.”

Bilbo bit his lip. “But I couldn’t win against the wolf on me; I got so scared I could move.”

“Winnin’ a fight doesn’t make you brave either.”

His face scrunched up in confusion. “Then what makes someone one or the other?”

It was Geary that spoke this time, with a rare smile for Bilbo. “Bein’ brave is bein’ ready to face foes for the sake of people ye love or a cause ye believe in. Bein’ a coward is runnin’ from what’s right and honorable. Were ye ready to face yer foes in that pantry, Bilbo?”

His tears welled up. “I don’t think so,” he whispered. 

“But ye did.”

“I couldn’t run away. I wanted to, but there was nowhere to go.”

“A man dinnae become brave  _ or _ cowardly overnight, little kit. It is the actions that he takes goin’ forwards that defines ‘im.” Fallin interjected.

“What if I’m not ready to be brave again?”

The friendly dwarf patted his head. “I reckon you’ll find out when you come to that. In the meantime, there’s celebratin’ ta do!”

“Whatever for, master dwarf?” Belladonna grinned at his exuberance. 

He shot her an incredulous look. “For yer battle scars of course! No self-respecting dwarf would ever miss an opportunity to partake in a feast! Especially over beauties like them shinnies, ye've got there.” 

Belladonna blinked in momentary astonishment, face blank. Then a wide grin stretched across her ‘ruined’ skin. “Well, we couldn’t have anyone thinking you weren’t respectable dwarves, now could we?” she exclaimed. 

Bilbo’s eyes brightened at the prospect, the last vestiges of sadness fleeing in the face of a new experience. “A dwarven feast? What does that look like? I’ve been to one before, but maybe that was more my feast than theirs, as it was my pantry they raided.” He guffawed as more information became available to him. “Thirteen dwarves  _ and _ a wizard came  _ unannounced _ , can you believe that?”

If any of the dwarves thought this was an odd statement, they didn’t comment. They did, however, begin to regale Bilbo and Belladonna with tales of what mischief and fun could be found at a dwarrow feast. Bilbo became sidetracked with the word ‘dwarrow’ and demanded to know everything about it. These questions were directed at a bemused Bear. He answered them willingly enough. It was interchangeable with the word 'dwarves', but 'dwarrow' was typically only used by dwarves to refer to themselves. Apparently, a group of two or more of them were called dwarrows if one wanted to be culturally correct. Which Bilbo did. He made sure to employ that word often after that conversation.

The ‘feast’ as they called it took place at a tavern nearby that evening. They were once again congratulated on their new scars with hearty slapped on the back. They explained that scars earned in the name of protecting one’s kits were highly prized among parents amoung the dwarrow and were a mark of honour, valor, and selflessness. 

Upon hearing this news, Belladonna's eyes lit up. Their dwarrow friends noticed right away and began to detail how they would have special clothing made to show their scars off and how there were braids used to commemorate and declare their courage. Not only was it an acknowledgment of what they had been through, but also a symbol of their right to be the kit's guardian. Thus, they were called ‘Gaurdian Braids’.

Belladonna explained that in the Shire, unsightly or frightening marks were hidden well for the sake of others. Their reactions had been dark, but her words had quieted their imminent outbursts. 

“If they wish for me to act as though nothing happened then they will be sorely disappointed,” her eyes darkened to pitch. “I refuse to feel shame any longer for what I lost in return for protecting my child. I would make the trade a thousand times over if that was the bargain I was given.” 

The roar of approval had been deafening, not only from the dwarrow sitting at their table but from the rough-looking crowd around them. They'd obviously been listening in. But Bilbo couldn't find it in him to be annoyed when he saw the light spark back into his mother's eyes as she sat a little taller. 

Much to the delight of the dwarrow, she then asked which way she should pull her hair back to give the scars the most glory. Geary and Nando then proceeded to instruct Bilbo on how he should braid her hair into many different braids that meant different things. A Guardian Braid, a Defender's Braid, and a Warrior's Braid were twisted and knotted into her hair was her son listened attentively to their friend's instructions. He un-did and re-did them many times over during the meal, making sure he learned them perfectly so he could replicate it each day for his mother. Whatever ensured she wouldn't sob like that ever again, he would do. 

Belladonna was interested in the taboo in their culture pertaining to braids. While Bilbo was industriously studying under Nando and Bear's tutelage, she listened to Fallin and Geary. For any person who was not close family or spouse to touch a dwarrow's hair was brazen and unacceptable. Kits were the exception, as they often had the tendency to tug on braids, and that was considered all well and good. Her son missed the entirety of the conversation, so Belladonna made a mental note to tell him about it later, hoping she wouldn't forget.

With Belladonna’s hair was pulled back from her now angular face, her eyes were what drew the most attention. They were fierce and full of love, and Bilbo thought that she must be more beautiful than even Lady Galadriel. Belladonna had not known who this woman was but gathered she must be quite the sight if her son was making such flattery. She felt lighter; more at home in her own skin than she'd been since the attack. A sense of peace washed over her as she let the cool breeze from the open door wash over her scarred face. She had nothing to be ashamed of, and from now on, she wouldn't let anyone tell her otherwise, their ‘good intentions’ be damned.

That feast was the happiest they’d been since before Bilbo had gotten sick the previous autumn. Bilbo didn’t remember the last time his mother laughed in such a carefree manner. She spoke brashly and voice her thoughts loudly, much to the approval of her audience. She was glowing, he decided. Perhaps the Rangers were right; he was lucky after all.

On the trek back home, they sang the elven songs that Bilbo had gifted her with while she was ill, with Bilbo gently correcting her pronunciation and Belladonna not questioning any of it. It did their hearts good to be galivanting out of doors again. They pointed out every time they saw bulbs stretching out of the snow or a melted patch where the grass underneath had been revealed. There were more things to take joy in now that the cold was being pushed away. Perhaps with it, some of the darkness would be as well. 

Entering Bag End had been hard. They did not step foot in the pantry, nor in Bilbo’s room, even though it had been kindly cleaned and fixed for them by their loyal neighbors, the Gamgees. 

“I think we should reinforce the house,” Bilbo told her as they sat at the dining table, eating a meager meal of cheese and radishes. 

“With what?”

He beamed at her for not shooting his idea down immediately. “With metal. The dwarves can help,” he explained. “It will look like a metal grid, only we won’t be able to see it because it will be behind the wall.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “It will be expensive.”

“It will be worth it.”

That spring, they both worked hard to come up with the funds. The dwarrow had indeed traveled to repair the Shire, working their way from house to house. At first, the denizens of Hobbiton were suspicious and wary. But with Fallin's ever-present good-cheer, Bear's quiet strength, Geary's honest personality, and Nando's earnest grin, they managed to break the walls of many of the hobbits there. 

There had been a small cloud to dampen their sunny days. Bilbo's market had to be removed from Hobbiton. The few loyal hobbits left had not been enough to warrant the price of keeping it up, so her son had good-naturedly decided it was time to focus outside of the Shire instead.

If Bilbo thought his mother had not heard the cruel words of their ‘neighbors’, then he was sorely mistaken. She may not have been able to respond, but she'd been awake enough for their disturbing words to worm their way into her consciousness. It broke her heart that he did not let her comfort him, but suffering in silence seemed to be Bilbo’s way. Even more now that he had been poisoned with the thought that he was a burden and a taint. The only taint she could see was the blight those nasty creatures put on the world with their honeyed words and judgemental eyes. They were ignorant, and she hurried to assure her son so. 

Thankfully, the market in the human towns had been a success, and he'd even managed to buy out the human vendors in the Shire so he could still have a hand in their commerce. This was done partially out of spite and partially out of worry for the denizens he still considered friends. He hired people to work the booths for him so that all he had to do was handle the numbers side of things. Gerontius and Belladonna made sure to help him with that bit as much as he would let them, but he had a good head on his shoulders for figures and didn't mind the challenge. 

The ravages of the Fell Winter did not fade right away. The situation had been dire, and by the time the winter ended, they'd all been nearly starving to death. Luckily for the Shire, Bilbo had vendors selling their wares all over the place and wholesale prices. 

Of course, once they all had food again, it was difficult to adjust. Most everyone became ravenous, over-eating at any opportunity. Belladonna and Bilbo, on the other hand, became frugal. They never got back into the habit of seven meals a day, though they did drink appetite-suppressor teas to substitute. Partially because they were pinching pennies to afford the large-scale renovation, and partially out the fear that they might have to do without again. 

Their dwarrow friends threw themselves into the renovations at Bag End. The pantry was completely re-done into a barricaded shelter and had a passageway added to act as an exit should the need ever arise. This meant that Bag End now only had one pantry, so they tacked on another near to the kitchen. By the time all was said and done, they were grateful they had saved so carefully, otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to pay the hard-working dwarves in full. As it was, they had to draw on their family’s treasury to finish everything. Her father hadn’t minded. All in all, it was finished by the end of Spring. 

Summer was quick on its heels. Bilbo began to shift uneasily. Autumn was just around the corner and winter would follow swiftly after that. He had no desire to see another winter so soon. It didn't matter that they were so much more prepared or that everyone said it would be mild this year. He just wasn't ready to be brave yet.

“Mother?” he approached her one day where she was working at the loom she'd taken in interest in of late. 

She stopped what she was doing and turned her full attention on him with a smile. “Yes, Bilbo?”

“I’ve decided to expand my trading business.”

“More?” her eyebrows raised. “After taking on the last dozen vendors into the Shire, I might have thought you’d be content for a while to see how they fared. What is it you wish to get your feet wet in this time?”

He scrunched his nose at the euphemism. Hobbits didn’t like water and Bilbo was no exception. “Caravans.”

“Really?”

He was glad she sounded interested. It bolstered his courage. “With the revenue we’re getting from the market, we have the opportunity to invest in a new venture.”

She suppressed a grin at how carefully he worded his sentence. “Why caravans? Where do you want to trade?”

He looked down at his well-kept furry feet. “Because I want to trade with the dwarves of Ered Luin.”

“You mean the blue mountains?”

He nodded.

“What brought this on?” Belladonna repressed a slight sigh. Pulling information out of Bilbo was like trying to pull a tree stump out of the ground bare-handed.

“I was talking the Fallin the other day,” he confessed. “It’s easy to talk to him about the Fell Winter. He’s the only one of our friends that is from Erud Luin. The other’s come from the Iron Hills.”

“Ah, was the winter hard for them as well?”

He looked up from the ground with slightly haunted eyes. “Every winter is like a Fell Winter in Erud Luin, and the other seasons aren’t much better.”

She sucked in a breath. 

Bilbo ducked his head and scuffed the pad of his foot on the floor. “And,” he began hesitantly. “I'm not ready to be brave yet.” 

She waited for him to continue, sensing he wasn't finished. 

“Besides,” he continued. “I thought it would be best to establish trade relations there before the winter hits. If all goes well, they won't have such a severe food shortage.”

Belladonna felt her heart in her throat and a fondness for the soft courage hidden behind his fear in her son. She reached out and petted his flouncy curls. “I think it’s a marvelous idea.”

He brightened. “Then I shall write Lady Dís right away!”

She felt a little blindsided. “Who now?”

“Lady Dís!” he repeated unhelpfully as he scampered off in search of the perfect stationery. 

She just shook her head. She’d learned long ago that her son made no sense at all until eventually, he did. She would just have to wait until this made sense too. She turned back to her loom with a sigh and began threading again. 

Belladonna was not keen on spending more time in the Shire at present either. Between their distinctly un-hobbitly ways, the scars she displayed proudly, and their intense dislike of her son, she found that the rolling hills she once called home were not as appealing anymore.

To the rest of the Shire, they were  _ other  _ now. But that was okay, she decided, because if being ‘other’ meant being happy with who she was, she would choose the loneliness every day. And she wouldn't be completely alone. Her son had long since become her favourite company. She could only how that she was enough for him.

In the future, she was positive they would find people who would fight off the loneliness they felt deep in their souls. She could wait for that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Dís Burnes receives a strange letter of correspondence from a caravan merchant looking to do business with Belegost in Ered Luin. The contents of the letter would have been enough to surprise her, but that was not what astonished her. It was who the letter was written for, a name which she hid in her heart long ago: Dís Durin. Her brother has questions: Why does this merchant know her true identity and what do they want in return for their silence? Dís isn't so sure of this Bilbo Baggin's ill intent.


	8. In Which the Burns Receive "Blackmail"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dís Burnes receives a strange letter of correspondence from a caravan merchant looking to do business with Belegost in Ered Luin. The contents of the letter would have been enough to surprise her, but that was not what astonished her. It was who the letter was written for, a name which she hid in her heart long ago: Dís Durin. Her brother has questions: Why does this merchant know her true identity and what do they want in return for their silence? Dís isn't so sure of this Bilbo Baggin's ill intent.

Sometime later in Belegost, Dís Burns received a letter. She’d been in her office, going over the tax information from the last period. The leger had been frustrating at best. There had been no discrimination between the wealthy and the poor and on top of that, the taxes had been higher than period than they should have been, considering the lack of return the citizens of Belegost had seen implemented. 

The main issue was that the access tunnels to the southern mines had not been cleared like Lord Terrenth and Lord Bragn has promised in return for the higher taxes. The denizens of Belegost wanted to retrieve their dead and search for survivors; the city lords wanted the miners to return to their posts. It was a win-win situation. But it hadn’t turned out that way. The real question was where all the money had gone...

She’d been mulling this over when she became aware of the prickling of her beard and the hairs on the back of her neck. Someone was standing right behind her, though how she had missed them coming in through the only access in the room was beyond her. Not even her Stone Sense had alerted her to the dwarf’s entry.

“What do you have for me this time?” she murmured by way of greeting. 

“Something interesting,” the dark voice chuckled. 

Her lip quirked, but she made no move to turn to face her informant, as was their deal. “It always is with you.”

“Why thank you, my lady. What I have here is a letter.”

“Oh?” she paused. “And what is so special about a letter?”

“‘Tis not the _letter _that’s special, but the name with which it’s addressed. I managed to... intercede it before it arrived in the post.”

A four-fingered gloved hand placed a neatly folded piece of paper with a red wax seal in front of her. She picked it up and looked at the round curly letters. She nearly dropped it. 

“Where did this come from?” she demanded, the paper crinkling slightly in her hold. 

“Royalty from the east, I gather.” 

“Did you read it?”

There was no hesitation in the dwarf’s voice. “Always.”

“Is there cause for concern?”

“There’s always ‘cause for concern’ when that name shows up.”

“Well said, old friend.”

“Always a pleasure, my lady.”

Dís closed her eyes and waited for the slight breeze to betray their passing before she looked down at the letter again. This was not something she could handle on her own. She stared at it for a few moments, deciding what course of action to take. The red seal had not yet been lifted from the page, and Dís wondered how her informant friend could have read it. But that was not the main issue right now. Carefully, she tucked the correspondence into her bodice to keep it hidden and closed the ledgers and reports. She would need her brother for this…

She found him exactly where she had expected to. She smiled at her brother’s self-appointed guard as she passed him. Dwalin had always been fiercely loyal even though he had grown up as their childhood friend and not their protector. Thorin’s rooms were across the hall from the quarters she shared with her two sons. Of course, she couldn’t expect her children to be in their quarters at this time of night. In fact, looking at her pocket watch, she could expect them to be found in their Uncle’s rooms being scolded right about now. 

She was not disappointed.

“Fíli, Kíli,” both boys straightened up when Thorin said their names, glowering at them from behind the throne-like chair in his living space. “Care to tell me why we currently have nine pigs missing from the pens?”

They stared straight ahead, pinching their lips shut. 

“Your Uncle asked you a question,” she prompted. “I’d like to hear the answer to it as well.”

Both boys gasped and spun to turn wide eyes on their mother, not having realized she’d entered. Kíli trembled in his boots. 

“Amad! When did you get here?” Fíli tried for nonchalance, but his eyes grew a little wild with trepidation.

Kíli broke easily under the weight of her gaze. “We didn’t mean to lose them!” he cried. 

His partner in crime elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Shut up, Kí!” He hissed.

Thorin had the back of the chair in a white-knuckled grasp, “and what exactly were you trying to do with them? You will tell me now, Kíli.”

The boy mumbled something under his breath.

“Louder,” Dís ordered. 

“We were trying to race them, we didn’t know they’d go off the track we made!”

Dís wasn’t even sure where to start with that statement; there were so many things wrong with it. At Kíli was just entering adolescence and Fíli was in the thickest part of it. yet and only had more mischief to make from here on out. 

Fíli hurried to back his younger sibling up, all irritation forgotten. “Uncle Dain rides pigs into battle! We thought we could learn how to also!”

“If you keep making mischief like this, we won’t survive the winter,” Thorin warned in a low voice. 

Both boys went white as a sheet.

“You two don’t have the excuse of being babes anymore,” he continued, voice hard and unforgiving. “Who do you think has to apologize to the city lords for the messes you make?”

“We’ll get them back,” Kíli promised in a small voice.

Thorin shook his head decisively. “No. Sending you two back out onto the mountain is just asking for more trouble that we can’t afford. You’ve done enough for one day; Dwalin is waiting outside and will escort you two back to your room.”

If they slouched any more, their hands would be dragging on the floor. When the door shut behind them, Dís sighed. “You didn’t have to be so hard on them, brother.”

“How can I be otherwise when I will have to go to work tomorrow knowing you’ll be groveling in front of filth like them!” his thunderous expression only darkened further as he dwelled on it. 

“If it were not for this, it would be for something else. They enjoy seeing me bow before them,” she spat with distaste. “In any case, just how are my sons to learn from their wrongs if they are not allowed to right them? You should have let them go and search for the pigs under supervision. As it is, you’ve sent them, _together_, with nothing to do in an enclosed space. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Dís,” he snarled, slamming his hands on the table next to her. 

She bared her teeth at him and stood up. “You’re not functioning well, Thorin! You’re as irritable as a hungry bear, you snap at anyone who gets close to you, and you’ve been obsessing of late. It’s not healthy! You are getting sick!”

“What am I to do, Dís? Our people will _starve_ this winter, and those boys have just lost precious resources that would _feed our people_. I am sick of self-proclaimed suitors expecting me to entertain them at their leisure, I am sick of coming home each evening from the smith, already knowing to expect some mischief from your sons, and I am sick of watching you bow to lesser dwarves in return for our safety. I should be the one doing that, not you!”

“We both agreed long before we ever made it to Ered Luin that I would be the one to take this task,” she reminded quietly. “I am not so recognizable to you and we must build a home elsewhere because ours is no longer in our possession.”

“It matters not what the city lords proclaim themselves as, Dís, these are still our people and they are being mistreated left and right, by dwarves and outsiders alike. I cannot bear to sit by and do nothing while they suffer.”

Their people had been suffering since the fall of Erebor. They were found untrustworthy and greedy creatures due to the legends about gold-sickness and their fascination with wealth and haggling. They were looked upon as lesser creatures, more akin to beasts than any other race. Due to this fact, their allies were few, and friends even fewer. Who would do business with untrustworthy customers? Especially those who looked rough, traveled in groups, and carried heavy weapons wherever they went? The honorable reputation they once held as a race had long since been shattered upon the stones of their home.

“You need to find your One, or someone who will suffice, my brother. The fire inside you must be tamed before it consumes you. You know you cannot keep going alone or you’ll succumb to single-minded madness. We know where that got our grandfather. I will not see it take you as well.”

“You cannot force me to take any but my One.” He began his trek back and forth in the short space again.

“I would pull out that knife stickin’ up yer arse if I thought it’d do any gud.” Her accent thickened with her derision. 

“Only you would presume to imply there’s one there in the first place!”

“I would too,” Dwalin drawled from where he was leaning against the door, inspecting the blade of this battle axe. He must have just returned. 

“Shut it, you.”

Dwalin snorted but didn’t comment. 

Thorin halted his furious pacing once more and turned those steely-blue eyes on her. “You are home early… why?”

She huffed, “glad to know I’m welcome them.”

He grunted. 

“A letter,” she finally replied.

“From who? Balin? How is he?” More pacing. Really, it was a terrible habit of his. She was beginning to consider tying him to a chair. 

“It is not from Balin.”

“Do not speak in riddles, sister, I have neither the patience nor the time for them.”

“You have neither the patience or the time for anything by your sour attitude,” she grumbled. “It is from a person I have never met, someone called Bilbo Baggins.”

“I know no Bilbo Baggins, why is this letter important?”

“Because it is addressed to ‘Dís Durin’," she revealed, sitting down in the chair to watch the other occupants of the room.

That stopped all activity in the room. Neither man present breathed. 

“What?” her brother growled. “What do they want for their silence?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t opened it yet, I wanted your opinion on it. I had to get it out of the office discreetly. Wouldn’t want the city lords to think their aid was hiding something from them.”

“And if I assume our _friend_ delivered it to you?”

“You would be right," she affirmed.

“Open it and read it aloud.” His order sounded so much like their father that she needed a moment to compose herself.

Dwalin turned half-way to the door. “Should I wait outside?”

“No, you should hear this too.”

Dís used her letter knife to pop off the red wax. It was apparent that the seal had been laid very carefully. It was centered nicely and the letter was folded in perfect thirds. She gasped when she opened it. 

“What is it?” her brother’s frown deepened. 

“Just a fine hand,” she waved the paper around. 

He grunted. “Read it out loud.”

So she began. “Greetings and honor towards Lady Dís Durin. I hope this letter finds you well. As you are no doubt an incredibly occupied dwarrowdame, I shall keep this letter succinct:

“I am Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, heir to the Chair of the Thain. I am a business-hobbit interested in establishing trade-relationships with the dwarrow!” Dís could hardly believe her eyes, voice growing excited at the prospect. No business-people, hobbit or otherwise had expressed such a desire since before the days of the dragon. “I plan to leave with a caravan of supplies and food next month and reach you before our midsummer festival and hope to stay through the winter to earn a better understanding of your needs. I do so hope that this letter will convey my heartfelt desire to maintain a close relationship with you for the sake of both our success. Let this letter be a sign of goodwill between us in hopes of mutual camaraderie. Signed, Bilbo Baggins.”

There was a beat of silence between them all, and even Dwalin moved closer. 

“Can it be true?” she breathed, looking to her brother for confirmation.

Dwalin shook his head, “when _you_ read it, it sounds well enough, but I can read between the lines and what I heard was that this Bilbo Baggins is about to take advantage of you using their business’ face in exchange for not exposing your secret.”

“Mm, I agree with Dwalin,” her brother nodded, predictably. “No one seeks out alliances with dwarrow anymore. There is nothing to be gained from it. A Thain sounds like a position of power; that's something to be concerned about as well. They may try to use that as leverage against you. Beyond that, I can’t trust honeyed words. Bilbo Baggins is passive-aggressive. No doubt another slimy businessman coming to cheat our people out of their hard-earned coin.”

“Yet how can we turn them away when we are in such dire need?” she demanded, thinking of the long belt straps that hung from their people's waists.

Thorin paused, face twisting in an angry snarl. “We cannot.”

“Then what shall we do?” 

It was Dwalin who answered her this time. “Be on guard, lady.”

“Aye,” she agreed, “then I shall begin the preparations for their arrival. I will have to make a copy of this letter addressed to ‘Dís Burns’ to show the city lords. They aren’t going to be happy about this.”

“No, they will not,” Thorin’s small grin was sharp. “By sending the correspondence to you, not only have the filth been disrespected by a foreign envoy, but this Bilbo Baggins will have to deal with their ire himself. It won’t be pretty.”

Dwalin’s expression mirrored that of the exiled king’s. “Aye, that is what I call ‘two gems with a single strike of a pick’. It will be a good show to watch. I wonder, is Bilbo a female’s name or that of a male?”

“It hardly matters,” the dwarrowdame replied dryly. “They’re bringing_ food_, Dwalin, _f__ood_. No eating the guests.”

His grin was all teeth. “Who knows, I might just like a bite.”

She pointed at the door. “Get out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo and Belladonna prepare to leave the Shire and make their journey to the Blue Mountains. There, Dís Durin is waiting for them. Imagine her shock upon meeting her One, thinking the woman was Bilbo Baggins, only to find out that it's actually her tiny hobbit kit who is the author of the letter!


	9. In Which Bilbo is a Blackmailer, Belladonna is Bilbo, and the Dwarrow are Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Belladonna prepare to leave the Shire and make their journey to the Blue Mountains. There, Dís Durin is waiting for them. Imagine her shock upon meeting her One, thinking the woman was Bilbo Baggins, only to find out that it's actually her tiny hobbit kit who is the author of the letter!

Neither Bilbo nor Belladonna had anticipated how expensive a caravan would be. There were the wagons themselves, ponies to pull them, drivers to hire, rangers to guard them, and of course, the merchandise that they would be selling. If not for Belladonna’s frighteningly wide-spread connections, they might not have been able to pull it off. 

As it was, his mother had ‘come across’ a caravan owner who wished to retire. She charmed him down out of his wagon and took him to drink with their dwarrow friends, who were particularly gifted in haggling. It had all been history from there. 

Bilbo had been astonished when he’d heard the commotion outside. His feet had made loud sounds in the otherwise empty smial as he rushed to their front door to yank it open. Outside there sat fourteen wagons, twenty-eight horses, and sixteen hired hands that had come with the caravan. His mother had been lounging across a hard-top wagon in the front, skirts riding up dangerously high up her thigh, pipe in hand. She waved excitedly when she saw him.

“Bilbo! Prepare the guestrooms; we’re to have company!” she grinned, _ loving _the sour looks of their neighbours and the hobbits that had gathered around to whisper about what has possibly going on. 

Bilbo just shut the door. 

The next two weeks had been a frenzy. The entire caravan company had opted to stay with them since they were nomadic and hand nowhere else to go. The horses grazed _ in their gardens. _ To top it all off, Bilbo had to buy the merchandise. All of it was starting to affect his delicate hobbit sensibilities. He couldn’t remember being this distressed since the dwarves invited themselves to dinner before they’d even met! 

He was a little thing, so his ire was no threatening in the least. He would start huffing, puffing, and twitching when everything got to be too much for him. When that happened, Belladonna would take him to their shared bedroom and have some much-needed quiet time. Even if her son was a successful business-hobbit at a frighteningly young age, he still needed naps when the world was just too much to handle. 

Bilbo bought things in bulk. Basic pantry staples were the first thing he purchased, then moving on to fermented roots and meats, dried fish and venison, as well as fresh roots. He also bought fabric, leather, fur, thread, cord, and sewing supplies. Thick wool socks and boots too. So many boots in so many sizes. He’d even thought to buy some furniture. If it wasn’t purchased, then they would use it in whatever quarters they were given. He’d had to take out a small loan from Gerontius again to buy all the merchandise since his own funds had been drained from the purchase of the caravan and hiring the hands. His grandfather hadn’t minded in the least as he knew that Bilbo would make a success of his venture. Even if the caravan went terribly wrong, Bilbo would still be able to pay him back with interest with the market. 

“What will you do with the market while you’re away?” his grandfather questioned without bothering to remove his pipe.

“I’ve hired someone to do the calculations in my stead. It’s nearly self-sustaining,” Bilbo replied, sounding far older than a twelve-year-old. “At this point the venders are coming to me to pay the revenue that belongs to me along with booth fees since they’re on our land.”

“That was an inspired idea, Bilbo.” Gerontius praised. “I’ve heard nary a complaint from your venders or those bigoted hobbits, and I have asked around.”

Bilbo squinted at him. “I do hope you haven’t been meddling, grandfather.”

By the roar of laughter that echoed in the study, Bilbo had no doubt he had. 

For Belladonna’s part, she was ecstatic at the prospect of getting away from the Shire for a few months. Perhaps kinder things awaited them out in the world. The caravan left at the start of the next month. The night before they left, neither of them slept well. They were in the same spare bedroom they’d been using since returning to Bag End, the one closest to the barricaded room. Not that they slept well normally. It was sad to think that for all the good memories they had in the house Bungo and Belladonna had built together, they were heavily outweighed by the bad ones. She knew in her heart that it was time to leave.

The next morning they headed toward Belegost, an ancient town that was nestled in a hollowed out portion of the Blue Mountains. They were both looking forward to seeing it with their own eyes after they’d heard Fallin speak of his home fondly, though with a bitterness they could understand. Their goodbyes had been short and sweet. Everything had been arranged and the rangers met them halfway to their border. They were the same Men who had saved them that terrible night months before. If Belladonna didn’t know better, she would say they might feel guilty for not rescuing them sooner. She couldn’t quite find it in herself to tell them otherwise; perhaps if they _ had _come sooner, Bilbo would still have a chance at earning his father’s love.

The Men that drove the ponies were kind enough, even if they kept to themselves and did not engage with either hobbit. Even though they had stayed in their home for the past two weeks, it felt like more distance had been created rather than less. With the rangers there to guide them and protect them, they encountered little trouble on the way. They had thought there might be more. Bilbo certainly had based off the adventures he remembered from the Before. But perhaps the darkness hadn’t spread far enough yet for that to be the case. 

The trip took them four weeks. Their bums were tired of the hard benches and their tempers weary of their present company. Bilbo had never been on a trip quite like this one. He wasn’t sure how important a caravan would be to the lords of Belegost and wondered who they would be dealing with. He was looking forward to meeting Lady Dís and hoped his memories about her were correct.

Bilbo couldn’t remember who told him about her. It was someone important. The only thing he knew was that they had been forced from their home, Erabor, by a ‘fire drake from the north’ and had wandered ever since. They hadn’t been able to find work easily because of suspicion and prejudice. Bilbo felt that he could relate to some degree. 

Upon cresting the last foothill, they were rewarded by the sight of the entrance. The first thought that sprang to Bilbo’s mind was how unlike it was to the Erabor he’d seen in his dream. Erabor had been clean cut, ornate, and was the grandest thing he’d ever seen in either of his lives. Everything about it said strength and power. Belegost was nothing like that. It gave off the impression of an old settlement at best.

_ It looks tired, _his childlike mind offered. 

A mixture of wooden pikes and piled cobblestones made up the entrance. Mismatched guards in too-large armor stood outside the large gate with various weapons at hand. Bilbo couldn’t see them well from where he sat in the shade of the covered wagon, as he was closed in on two sides. 

Belladonna sighed in relief and sent a bright smile back at him. “There now, I told you we’d reach it today!”

Bilbo nodded agreeably, not mentioning that she’d said the same thing for the past five. His mother stood up and called back to the other wagons that they’d made it to the mountain. Cheers rang out from behind them.

Bilbo saw them first. They were four in number and rode at great speed under flame red flag. The two in the middle were obviously related and painfully familiar to Bilbo. The female in the centre was a visually stunning creature. She had a beard that was shaved into pointed designs across her chin and not allowed to grow out more than a centimeter. Long, dark hair cascaded down her armoured chest in a wild tangle of braids and twists. The male to her right had the same hair as she did but had colder eyes. Perhaps what drew Bilbo’s attention to them in particular was that they both had short beards in contrast to everyone around them. Pressure began building in his skull as he observed them. 

Bringing his hands up to clutch at the sides of his head, he whimpered, willing the impending memories to stay away. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to remember who they were. Not yet. It wasn’t time. His mind was just too small for big thoughts like that.

“Lady Dís welcomes you to Belegost on behalf of the city lords, Lady Bilbo.” A white-haired dwarrow smiled and bowed respectfully. 

Belladonna’s eyebrows rose up towards her dark hairline. “Lady Bilbo, eh?” the mangled corner of his lips twitched suspiciously. 

“I am Lady Dís Burns, Lady Bilbo. These are my counsels today,” she pointed to each of them in turn. “My older brother Thorin Burns, and these are Dwalin and Balin.”

“I see,” his mother intoned, nodding. “It is very good to meet you all. What is it you wish to speak of out here and not in the mountain?”

“What do you want?” the one named Thorin crossed his arms and glared at Belladonna with a most unpleasant expression. His sister placed a hand on his arm to caution him but he brushed it off.

Bilbo felt his hackles rise. 

“To sell our wares?” she sounded confused, bless her.

“But at what price? Do you seek to swindle us out of what money we have?” he demanded.

_ “Thorin.” _

“Do not think to dissuade me from my ire, Dís, she is trying to blackmail us!” he hissed in a low tone, but their hobbit ears picked it up easily. “She’ll find no kindness from me.”

Bilbo huffed and stood from where he’d been sitting, using a crate as a stair to step up onto the back of the seat. He attempted to tower over the dwarrow. He glared down at Thorin and placed disapproving hands on his hips. 

“Your behaviour is _ abhorrent _ ,” he announced to the man, choosing his words carefully. “Instead of offering hospitality to weary travelers who have come a long way for _ your benefit, _you offer accusations. If I had known the dwarrow of Ered Luin would be so unwelcome to a…a mutually beneficial business trip,” he carefully pronounced the larger words, blushing when he tripped over them but managed to finish his thought, “then I would not have come in the name of aid but in education.”

There was a moment of stunned silence as Bilbo glared at Thorin and all five dwarrow gaped back at him. Nothing but silence greeted his words.

Belladonna coughed, turned away to smother the laughter that was bubbling up from inside her but her shaking shoulders gave her away. 

Thorin growled, his scowl growing more fierce. “You would laugh when your child has disrespected an envoy that has come to speak with you of your business?”

Any attempt to hold it in vanished and her bright laughter rang out across the valley. Over the last few months, Belladonna had _ long since _shed the restrictive rules hobbits places on proper behavior. Apparently she’d left behind her self-control as well. 

She brushed a hand across her face to wipe a tear away. “I suppose I should apologize. I forget that my son’s mannerisms are…abnormal.”

Dwalin snorted. “That’s one way to put it. Myself? I would have put it as downright _ ‘unsettling’ _.”

Belladonna ignored him as Dís elbowed the dwarf hard. “It’s just that there’s been a rather humorous mistake.”

“Do you think this is funny, Lady Bilbo?” Thorin’s voice was low and dangerous.

She was utterly unaffected. “That’s just the mistake: I am not Bilbo.” she made an effort not to continue laughing. “He is!” she pointed at her son. 

All eyes swung to the affronted little kit still standing on the back of the wagon bench. His brows were furrowed as he squatted down to grab onto it so he could put is feet one at a time on the sitting part of the bench. He repeated to process again to get to the floor, and then shimmied out on his belly and dropped to the ground. After straightening his little yellow vest with a disgruntled look on his face, he turned to face them with all the determination and professionalism that a twelve year old hobbit could.

“_ I _ am Bilbo Baggins. This is my mother Belladonna Baggins, and I do not take kindly to veiled threats against her,” he advised the glowering man in front of him. “Now, what is all this about blackmailing. I was very specific in my letter to Lady Dís that I would like to establish a good business relationship with Ered Luin. _ ‘Swindling’ _you as you say would not be con…conducive to a continuous partnership in the future. I fail to see what I would gain by robbing those with no abundance of wealth.” He nodded to himself, proud that he’d been able to track his thought properly to the end, even if he had almost forgotten a word in the middle. “I don’t like your word,” he informed Thorin after thinking about it for a moment. “It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. However do you live with yours?” he wondered curiously, not meaning any offense. “Perhaps it is like coffee. Mother tells me it is an acquired taste. I think it is dirt.”

Dís had to call on all the training of her youth to keep her face schooled. Unfortunately, her face turned red with the merriment she could not contain and it came stuttering out of her quietly. Dwalin let out his amusement loudly and freely with no reservation. Even Balin’s beard was twitching suspiciously. 

Thorin turned and stormed back toward Ered Luin with stiff shoulders and red ears. Dís motioned for the others to follow him, speaking briefly in a language the Shirelings didn’t know. They did so, somewhat reluctantly, but with no small amount of mirth from the one called Bofur. Bilbo watched them leave with a strange look on his face but was quickly distracted by the alarming wheezing sound his mother was making. 

“Mother, you’re going to make yourself ill!” he scolded. 

“Ah, Bilbo,” she hopped down from the wagon and gathered him to her, planting a kiss on his forehead and brushing the hair back from his face. “Just what did you say in your letter?”

“I did everything the book told me to, mother.”

“Next time you must let me read it before you send it. Now go apologize for causing trouble.”

Dís might have expected Bilbo to make a fuss about not being the one who started the argument, but he obediently walked up to her and bowed a little. 

“I apologize, Lady Dís. I also regret my rude outburst and request forgiveness as well.”

_ How mature…No excuses, no crying or whining or accusing. Oh yes, _ she thought, pleased with herself. _ I will be introducing him to my boys. With any luck, he’ll rub off on them. _

“You are forgiven, young Master Bilbo.” She nodded, then knelt down next to him and whispered quietly. “However, I must know how you came to know the name of Durin.”

He leaned closer with wide eyes, seeming intrigued in the camaraderie she was offering. “Is it a secret?”

“Yes.”

Bilbo bit his lip and put a finger to his chin in thought. Well now, that hadn’t been what he was expecting. Belladonna, who he knew could hear every word simply smiled down at him, no help whatsoever. His brows furrowed deeper. 

“Well now, young Master Baggins, what has you thinking so hard?” she queried as she observed him. 

He looked up from the shoulder plate he’d been staring at. “Sometimes I have to think for a while before I speak,” he admitted. 

The dwarrowdame had noticed the look the mother and son had shared so glanced up at the beautiful hobbit for confirmation. 

“It’s true. I have no idea where he gets it from; I rarely have time to think about anything before it pops out of my mouth.” She grinned, unrepentant. 

Lady Dís’ lips quirked up when she didn’t school her features quickly enough. She looked away from the female that made her heart pound and back to her son. “And why do you need to think for so long before you speak?”

That one was an easy question to answer because he thought about it a lot. “Because my thoughts are too big for my brain right now, and it takes time to sort them all out. I’ll grow into them soon, I hope.”

Her eyes warmed with laughter that did not spill from her lips. “So, will you answer my question now or will I need to wait a bit longer?”

“Well, I don’t really have a good answer to tell you, if I’m being honest.” And he wouldn’t be honest if he answered her. 

“Why not tell me the truth?”

“Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “Because I am not quite sure what the truth is yet either. But I’ll tell you once I know.”

Bilbo watched as a brightness in her eyes flared, bright and intense. “I’m keeping it.”

Belladonna startled at the look on the dwarrowdames face. “I’m sorry what?”

Lady Dís raised her brows and blinked innocently at the stunning hobbit. “Hmm?”

“You’re keeping what?”

“I just mean that I’m holding him to his promise,” she quickly revised with far too little guile in her voice.

Belladonna squinted at her suspiciously, and Dís smiled innocently, but her words held too much of her hidden mirth. “What doesn’t ‘pop’ out of your mouth appears on your face, bunnanunê.”

Belladonna looked confused and slightly peeved because she couldn’t understand the woman. Bilbo just wanted to finish this conversation so they could go inside the mountain and explore.

He directed the conversation back to the matter at hand. “But I have already thought about what we will talk about pertaining to the caravan, so in that regard I’m well prepared.” He gestured to the fourteen wagons behind him and the drivers who were speaking animatedly with some of the curious dwarrow guards. 

Dís nodded, trying valiantly to conceal her smile from the young kit. “I think you must have been an Ent in your past life, young master Bilbo, as you take as much care with your words as they do with theirs.”

“No, I was a hobbit,” he told her honestly. “And I am master of nothing but my own fate, and you are a lady of standing. Please call me Bilbo.”

She wondered idly who taught him to use such beautiful words. “Very well, Bilbo. Why don’t you tell me how many of your people will be staying and how long they wish to?”

“There was one couple per wagon plus three rangers that guided us here. They will only stay a fortnight at most to rest before making the journey back towards Bree. They will return when we are ready to leave to help drive the steeds.”

Lady Dís nodded. “They are welcome to rest here, though we cannot provide food for them for long. As much as we wish we could extend every hospitality towards you and yours, we must keep diligent in our rationing.”

“We have planned for that already. We’ve brought rations for them while they are staying here so we do not tax your system too much with our stay.” Bilbo’s high-pitched voice hurried to reassure her. “We hope that our potential trading alli…alliance will be the opposite of a burden.”

Lady Dís was kind enough to continue ignoring his occasional blunders. It was obvious to her that the kit spent a good amount of time planning what he was going to say in advance. “We do as well. It’s my understanding that you plan to winter here? You must be certain. Once it sets in and the first snow falls, there’s no leaving the mountain for travel. Belegost will be under strict rationing and there will be little activity and no merriment or feasting.”

Bilbo’s smile turned grim, and it was strange to see such a look on such a young creature. “We are well prepared for rationing, Lady Dís. We’ve been living on rations in preparation so the transition will be easy.”

“How much does a hobbit need to eat each day?” Dís questioned, noticing their pale but determined faces. She wondered what they were thinking about that could draw out such solemn reactions from the odd pair. 

“You needn’t worry about that, my lady.” Belladonna interjected. “Two meals a day is more than enough for us.”

Dís smiled, relieved. “I’m happy to inform you that during the summer and autumn months we enjoy three.”

“That is good to hear. Speaking of Autumn, I’ve brought seedlings I hope you would let me plant on the mountainside. Fast growing, hardy autumn harvests that will be ready just before winter if I plant them soon.” Belladonna requested, a trifle nervously, as she’d heard tale of Dwarrows’ dislike of growing things. 

“By all means, Lady Belladonna. Our blessing is to carve and mine and find. Yours is to grow and nurture; so perhaps you’ll have better luck with it than we have.”

Belladonna’s smile was blinding. “Then I shall start tomorrow! I am eager to rest and clean up after our journey. As exciting as it’s been, I am eager for some activity.”

“Then I will let you both get settled into your quarters. Endhur will be your guard and your guide should you need one. I look forward to seeing you during the evening meal.” Dís waved over a guard standing a few paces away. “You are welcome to explore Belegost if it suits you as well, though I recommend you take your guard with you so you don’t get lost.”

“We thank you for your hospitality, Lady Dís.” Bilbo smiled, then frowned. “I forgot to say ‘well met’. Is it too late for that?”

“It’s never too late. Well met, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

“Well met, Lady Dís of the House of Durin. May our days become brighter for having known one another.”

“May they indeed,” she murmured as her guests began to leave. “Oh, and Bilbo?”

Bilbo went to walk past her, his curled bouncing. He had his eyebrows raised in question, but there was no fear or apprehension in them. “Yes?”

“I will be hearing the answer to that question.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo insults Thorin more deeply than he means to and is frightened by the intensity of the scary blacksmith’s anger. As a result, Bilbo flees deeper into the city and meets someone who is very familiar to him from the Before.


	10. In Which Bilbo Finds a Familiar Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo insults Thorin more deeply than he means to and is frightened by the intensity of the scary blacksmith’s anger. As a result, Bilbo flees deeper into the city and meets someone who is very familiar to him from the Before.

Upon arriving in the rooms that would be their quarters for the foreseeable future, Belladonna decided the best course of action would be to divide and conquer. Meaning that she would explore the baths and Bilbo would handle the remaining portion of the business that needed to be addressed. Bilbo liked that she trusted him to this extent. His mother had been flushed and bright-eyed before he left her and Bilbo had no idea why. In the end, he determined that it was best not to ask.

The halls of Belegost were made up of roughly hewn stone. When he looked closely enough, Bilbo could make out there the pickaxe had chipped away at it in some places. The system of caves they were staying in was inside a ‘building’, but in reality, the only part about it that resembled a structure was the face of it, which had windows, doors, and pillars carved out of the mountain to give lend to the illusion. _Inside _was a whole other story altogether. It seemed to Bilbo that they had followed some sort of snake when creating the halls in the building.

Every shape was unpredictable and asymmetric. If made Bilbo sad for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it was because the Erebor in the Before had been a splendorous city whose halls were precise and even. Architecture was highly prized among the dwarrow, yet this felt half-hearted and lacked a sense of pride or care.

When he finally made his way back to the main ‘street’ where the caravan was parked in the cavernous space, he made quick work of the remaining business for that day. The wagons would be converted into ‘moving booths’ tomorrow and stationed throughout the city. He met the dwarrow that he would be hiring to man them as well. They were all eager to work and excited at the prospect of having the first chance to buy from the caravan. As bemused as they were at their “little master”, they didn't really care that he was so young so long as he paid them fairly. 

Today, all that was left was to ensure the drivers and ponies were well taken care of and speak to the guards who would be protecting the wares inside the locked wagons until they dispersed. He hadn’t expected to find a scary dwarrow sniffing around his merchandise. Thorin was pawing through the wagon which held raw materials and making a mess of it. Bilbo crossed his arms impatiently and tapped his foot against the ground, glaring up at the presumptuous sod. How dare he ruin the perfectly organized piles! Bilbo would have to fix them himself since it wasn't in the budget to pay someone else to do it for him. 

After being ignored for the better part of a minute, he cleared his throat loudly. 

“Bilbo Baggins, I thought you were sent to your room.” Thorin barely spared a glance at him. 

“And I thought you had fled to yours in shame,” he returned tartly. “Just what gives you the right to dig through my wagons?”

He stopped making a mess of the wagon long enough to glare down at him with fire in his eyes. “I have no shame—”

Bilbo harumphed. “That much is clear.”

Thorin abandoned the fabric and leathers he'd been looking through to take a large step forward, seething. “I will protect my people, _kit_. Even if my sister is fooled by your small stature and lesser age I am not.”

Bilbo took a step away, feeling uneasy with his advance. “I have brought nothing that will harm the dwarrow. It is food and material and furnishing.”

“You speak in long-winded airs, how can I trust words that are meant to distract and confuse?”

Bilbo stiffened. His _father_ had given him the knowledge to speak intelligently. “If you cannot understand large words, then Mahal looks down favourably upon you today since I happen to be selling a dictionary!” he hissed vehemently, not noticing how easily the words flowed. “I’ll give it to you for free since it will save us both; you from ignorance and me from having to hear about it.”

Thorin growled low in his throat at the insult and took two steps into Bilbo’s space, leaning down so their eyes were level. “You will listen to me and you will listen well, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire,” his hands landed on the little boy’s shoulders to keep him from running away, unaware of how rough his grip was to the little. His voice was not loud, but it was the quiet fury that burned in them that scared Bilbo. “If you think that you will be overlooked for your insult against myself or my family because of your age, then you are sorely mistaken and you may find yourself deeply regretting_ your _ignorance. Am I understood?”

Thorin thought he might be going mad. Bilbo Baggins was an unpredictable unknown and if that wasn’t bad enough, Thorin felt drawn to him. There was some sort of magic this youngling obviously carried about him or he would not feel this way! The child was dangerous and manipulative! Why else would everything inside him feel so uneasy around him?

If Thorin had thought his part in raising his nephews in this situation would be helpful, he was dead wrong. Fíli and Kíli has never been anything like this deceptive little boy who had obviously never been put in check. Kits needed to be taught their lessons early or they would not grow into honourable adults. It was not acceptable to insult one’s elders and _certainly_ not to insult Thorin. Bilbo's mother had not appeared to be bringing him up properly. She'd thought this behaviour was humourous! Thorin would amend that while the young merchant was with them. He would learn respect. It was then that he felt the tiny, spindly hobbit trembling under his hands. He stared down in shock to see Bilbo staring at the ground with wide fearful eyes. 

Thorin loosened his grip on the kit’s shoulders immediately. “Bilbo, I—”

But Bilbo didn’t risk staying long enough to hear what the scary dwarf was going to say. He dropped to the ground out of Thorin’s reach and scrambled between his legs. Thorin made to catch him with his knees with a cry of surprise, but Bilbo was already gone. 

Bilbo could hear his name called, but he was frightened and felt like he was going to start crying for some reason. That was worrying in and of itself since the only time Bilbo had ever cried was in mourning of his father's love. The crowd was an unwitting ally to the fleeing faunt, even if he did not go wholly unnoticed. His feet pounded against the stone ground until his legs burned and his sides had stitches in them.

The dwarrow around him watched with concern as he collapsed against the side of the building facade set into the mountain. He must have reached an outer-edge of the city. He dragged the heavy hair in and out of his lungs, wheezing a bit. Whether the difficulty breathing came from his panic or his flight he wasn’t sure. It certainly didn’t help matters when he heard Thorin bellowing out his name from somewhere in the distance. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

A hand grabbed the back of his collar. Bilbo let out a small squeak of surprise and snapped his head back to see who it was. The face was familiar, but the strange hat that sat atop the dwarf's head even more so. The unknown male smiled and put a finger to his lips, pulling him behind a stall that looked to be selling children’s toys. Bilbo didn’t question the kindly person and tucked himself between his legs and the inside of the stall. 

“BILBO!” 

He winced and cowered against the legs next to him. He bit his lip and tried not to move.

“Has anyone seen a hobbit kit run through here?”

Bilbo couldn’t breathe until the dwarf, Bofur, he suddenly remembered, spoke. 

“We’ve seen no kit,” he called out, still smiling even though Bilbo could feel how tense he was. He patted Bofur's calf in an attempt to comfort him.

Murmured agreements sounded throughout the street. Thorin let out a frustrated growl and then Bilbo heard his heavy footfalls backtracking. He released a huge sigh of relief and rubbed his face against Bofur’s knees to rid himself of the pooling tears in his eyes. 

“Thank you, Mister Bofur,” he sniffed.

“Eh? How do ye know me name?” the dwarf asked as he squatted down next to him.

“I don’t yet, but I will,” he rubbed his fists against his eyes, feeling tired and still trembling from the adrenaline of it all. “Why did you hide me?”

If Bofur thought the child's statement was odd, he didn't let on, only bobbed his head in a nod. “I’m a toymaker, lad. I’ve got a soft spot for little ones. Now, how ‘bout ye tell me why ye were runnin’ away from the blacksmith?”

“Blacksmith?” the faunt questioned dubiously. That wasn’t right at all. Thorin was something other than a blacksmith.

“Aye, finest metal worker we’ve seen in these parts.”

“He’s scary.”

“Did he frighten ye? E’s got two sister-sons so I’d ‘ave thought that ‘e’d be good with younglings. What did he say?”

Bilbo scowled. “He kept advancing on me and threatening me! He may have made a comment that insinuated he had a difficult time understanding the big words I use so I might have insinuated that since that was the case I’d give him a dictionary for free.”

If Bofur’s eyebrows rose anymore they would disappear into his hat. “That’s quite the insult, wee one, what did ‘e do to earn that?” 

“He was pawing through my merchandise without consent and accusing me of foul intentions and a bad character.”

“I see. So ye are the little master of the caravan? Ya might want to know that it’s an insult to the dwarf if ye offer to give something to ‘im for free. It’s akin to saying he lacks the means to buy it proper because ‘e’s lazy. It’s a matter of honour.”

Bilbo looked taken aback. “I didn’t mean to insult his dwarven sensibilities so deeply,” his shoulders slumped. “I’ve not been a good business-hobbit today or a good diplomat. I will have to apologize.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too hard about it, Bilbo. Even I have my off days, and I’m the most charming dwarf ye’ll ever meet.”

Bilbo hid a little giggle behind his hands and then looked confused. “I didn’t tell you my name, why do you know it?”

“Mm? Because down ‘ere news travels fast. Some say it’s because of the echo, some say it’s the dwarrowdames” he winked. “But I’ll let ya in on a little secret,” he leaned close to whisper conspiratorially. “It’s not the dwarrowdame with the loosest lips but the dwarrow!”

Then Bilbo was shooed out from behind the booth and a little stone figurine was pressed into his hand.

“Now get on with ye,” he made a shooing motion with his hands, a big grin on his face. “There’s a whole city to explore and an angry dwarrow to steer clear of!”

“Goodbye, Mister Bofur!” he waved. “Thank you again!”

“Maybe we’ll meet again another time,” the man returned, putting a pipe to his lips. 

Bilbo nodded. “Don’t worry, we will.”

And with that, he disappeared back into the crowd leaving a bemused Bofur to stare after his retreating form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo finds himself lost in Belegost, but enjoying the friendly nature of the Dwarrow nonetheless. If he'd had a guide, he probably wouldn't have ventured so far into the city and if that had been the case, he never would have been next to that alley to hear the other boy's scream.


	11. In Which Bilbo Faces Kíli’s Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finds himself lost in Belegost, but enjoying the friendly nature of the Dwarrow nonetheless. If he'd had a guide, he probably wouldn't have ventured so far into the city and if that had been the case, he never would have been next to that alley to hear the other boy's scream.

Bilbo had absolutely no idea where he was. _ Belegost, _ he reminded himself unironically, but _ where _in Belegost… that question had no quick reply. Although he was technically lost, he wasn’t all that concerned about it, to be honest. Everyone who he’d passed had either smiled at him or leaned down to chuck him under the chin or coo at him. He was smaller than dwarrow kits and he guessed that’s what endeared him so much to them. He wondered what had crawled into Thorin's ear to make him behave differently.

In general, it seemed the Dwarrow enjoyed spoiling the young. Bilbo’s arms were full of things he’d been handed. He held a mushroom kebab in one fist and a leather sash over one arm, while in the other he’d been given paper of all things. Of course, that had been the most exciting to him. Paper was ever so useful.

This treatment was a stark contrast to how the hobbits of the Shire acted towards him. But then, these dwarrow were unaware of just how unnatural Bilbo was, so perhaps that’s why they were being so open and friendly. He gladly accepted the attention. Whenever a large hand would reach down to chuck him beneath the chin he would tilt his head back to give them more access. It was a pleasant sensation and it put a little skip in his step.

It was wandering through the streets, contentedly munching on the delicious skewered shrooms that he heard a cry of pain. Quiet at first, nothing more than a murmur on the wind. He stopped, ears twitching as he strained to hear it again. When he was unsuccessful, he began walking again, much more alert than before. He walked slowly, waiting. He turned in the direction the draft was coming from, hoping to hear it again. Yavanna must have been with him that day. The next scream he heard was louder and there could be no mistake if it was real or not. 

Later on, Bilbo would not remember the courage it took to run towards those horrible sounds because he did not realize at the time that it was an act of bravery. He followed the noise carefully. It led him to the mouth of an alleyway between two sandstone structures. The faunt dropped his new toy and leather sash into a barrel that stood empty on the corner for safekeeping and pressed his back against the wall. 

Bilbo Baggins was not a strong hobbit, nor a fast one, nor a brave one. But he was clever. He peeked cautiously into the alleyway, gave his eyes a single second to observe, and then drew back quickly. His hear was pounding. There were three older boys crowding a younger, dark-haired one. It had been the youngest making the pained noises. The dwarrow must not have keen ears to have missed the sounds of their altercation. Why else would they leave a ‘kit’ to fend for himself?

The victim was trying to make enough noise to draw attention, eyes wild with fear and arms pinned to the wall behind him to keep him immobile. There was a hand covering his mouth, muffling his voice. 

Bilbo was breathing hard as he leaned back against the wall, trusting it to hold him up when he couldn’t. 

“How special do ya feel now, Kíli?” the one covering the youngling’s mouth sneered. “Still think yer better than the rest of us?”

“He can’t even grow a proper beard, how could he be better?” the dwarf to the right laughed.

“He looks like an elf!” the third piped up

Bilbo leaned back around the corner to see what was happening. His eyes found the boy who was obviously Kíli. He couldn’t speak around the hand so he just glared up at his assailants with glistening eyes. Bilbo jerked in shock when another of the bullies punched the restrained dwarf’s stomach with brutal force. The dark-haired boy let out a little scream and his eyes bulged with the pain. He struggled harder to get away, his muffled voice growing a bit louder. 

The adolescent on his left snickered. “No one can hear you, elf! They won’t even _ notice _ you. And even if they did, they wouldn’t come to help you.”

“The only one who thinks you’re worth noticing is your brother!”

“At least _ he _looks like a dwarf. Do you know what we do to elves, elf?”

“We should show him, Barnt.” 

“That’s a good idea.” Barnt, the one in the centre, smiled cruelly. 

Bilbo realized he had put his hand over his mouth in case the internal scream became external. Seeing Kíli be cornered like that, unable to escape and being attacked by the three bullies reminded him starkly of the night his father had died. In his mind’s eye, they morphed into dark creatures with fur and fangs. Bilbo’s heart pounded and there was a whooshing sound in his ears. He needed to be brave, he couldn’t be a coward! If he was a coward right now then another person would be hurt by wolves! 

_ These aren’t wolves, _ he told himself firmly. _ They are just unkind people. But they are _ not _ wolves. _

He took a deep breath and swallowed thickly. Then he stepped into the alleyway. “What do you do to elves?” he called down to them. 

All three jerked around to face them, alarm written on their faces. That expression morphed to mirth as they saw who had discovered them. Kíli’s eyes widened further and his face paled. Bilbo knew what he looked like. Small and weak and alone. But he could be strong. His voice would not waver. 

“Heh! You were scared, Rant!” chortled Barnt, pointing at his partner-in-crime.

Rant was quick to defend himself. “No more than Grall over there!”

“Both of you shut up, it’s just a little kit. What’s he going to do, go crying to fetch his amad?” Grall snapped.

“No, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Bilbo assured, hoping that the slight tremor to his voice went unnoticed. “I don’t want you to die or anything so drastic.”

Rant’s face paled, but he was the only one. Kíli watched him with incredulous eyes and jerked his head hard as if to tell Bilbo to leave. The hobbit ignored him. 

Barnt’s face turned red with annoyance. “We’re not scared of yer mother!” 

_ You should be. _“Are you scared of elves?” Bilbo asked, avoiding the urge to flick his gaze at the dwarfling behind them so as not to draw attention to Kíli.

The boy stepped forward in a way that was meant to be menacing, but after having just faced off Thorin who used a similar tactic for intimidation, Bilbo wasn’t so easy to startle by the likes of him. 

“What did you just say?” he ground out between clenched teeth, eyes blazing. 

His heart calmed and the fear left him. He was right. These weren’t wolves. These were yapping little dogs. He stood a little straighter. 

Bilbo tilted his head and repeated calmly, “I asked if you were afraid of elves.”

“Of course not!” Grall growled. 

“Then why would you hurt them?”

“We don’t hurt them,” Rant joined in again, snorting with derision. “We kill them!”

“For what reason?”

Grall was still confused. “What?”

Bilbo had never been more ready to educate plebeians. He began pacing back and forth, hands folded together as he began to speak. “There are only two reasons people kill, the first is in self-defense or preservation; the second is for the dishonourable enjoyment of it. So are elves a threat to you? Or do you lack honor? I’m curious which one it is.”

Three distinct roars of fury sounded as they descended on Bilbo. He heard Kíli cry out in fear for him. Bilbo braced himself. He had a plan, he had a plan, he had a plan. Then he had a lot of bruises. They were surrounding him, smothering him, jerking, pushing, yanking, smacking, pulling, scratching. Their cruel words began to taunt him too, but there was nothing new under the sun that they could use to insult him with that he hadn’t already been burned by. 

Yes, he was ugly. 

Yes, he was small. 

No, he wasn’t worth much to anyone but his mother. 

No, he didn’t believe anyone could love a face like his. 

Yes, he was alone. 

Until he wasn’t. Because in their rage, they had all forgotten about their original victim. Bilbo was so disoriented that all his eyes registered was a flash of dark hair streaming past before Grall cried out in shock. In the moment that the other boys jerked around to see what had tackled Bilbo’s main tormentor, Bilbo sprang into action. He leapt at Barnt, landing on his back. Wrapping an arm around his throat and bracing it with his other forearm had the older boy stumbling back, crashing into the wall with Bilbo between him and it. 

Rant was the last one standing, looking unsure of who to help. Grall, who was being pummeled within an inch of his life, or Barnt who was nearly being strangled to death. In the end, he rushed towards Bilbo. Barnt wheeled around so Bilbo had his back to Rant. 

“Get him off!” he tried to yell. 

“I’m trying, he won’t let go!”

Barnt’s only response was to choke louder because each time Rant yanked on Bilbo, it cut off all his air supply. This strategy might have worked, but Bilbo was just a little hobbit, and little hobbits got tired easily. His grip on his forearm slipped for just a moment and then he was falling backwards, landing on top of Rant who had been using all his strength to tear the young hobbit off. 

All the air had fled from his lungs and he couldn’t move. Rant and Barnt had the upper hand. Rant shoved Bilbo off him and coughed from the dust and sand he’d inhaled. Barnt drew back a boot-covered foot, ready to send it deep into Bilbo’s ribs and send the small hobbit flying across to the alley wall. 

The grasp on his arm hurt, and the muscle pulled as he was yanked out of the way by Kíli. Barnt fell backwards into the wall when his foot didn’t connect with any resistance. 

_ That’s enough evidence, _ Bilbo decided. 

Then, for the first time in his life, he did not try to lower his high-pitched voice into the lower, more mature tone he usually tried for. He let out a child-like wail. He made sure it carried_ . _

It happened in the blink of an eye. The once empty ally was suddenly filled to the brim with angry, protective dwarrow. Outraged cries echoed in the small space and Bilbo winced when he thought of how his mother would respond to the commotion. There was no way she wouldn’t hear or recognize her baby in trouble. He estimated he had about five minutes before she arrived, eyes blazing, sword readied, fully prepared to annihilate anyone who touched him. He took a sneaky peek at his father’s pocket watch to mark the time. The adrenaline had Bilbo shaking, and it made the face hard to read. He was grateful it was misinterpreted as fear. Kíli gripped him hard, protectively pulling him between his knees and covering Bilbo’s head with his arms as if to cover him from any more attacks.

“Just what were you doing to the poor little kits!” a dwarrow snarled, hauling Grall to his feet. 

“We weren’t doing anything!” Rant cried.

Grall was the next to speak up. “He insulted our honor!” 

“‘E’s barely a bigger than a babe!” A blonde dwarrowdame snarled in her thick accent, grabbing hold of Barnt. “Ye’ve insulted yer own honour by wailin’ on ‘im! Look at them, they’re terrified!” 

“We weren’t gonna hurt ‘im,” Barnt argued, trying to pull away from the woman. “Just teach him to respect his betters!”

“Lads, did they hurt you?” a kindly gentleman asked in a gruff voice. Bilbo didn’t know why that was as comforting as it was. 

Bilbo nodded silently as Kíli tightened his arms around him and scooted them both further back to create more distance between them and the crowd. 

“They attacked him!” the boy holding him yelled, outraged. “He’s so small and they attacked him!”

Bilbo winced at the volume. 

The gentleman crouched down next to him and put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Can you tell me why they hurt you?”

The boy behind him went rigid. He shouldn't have been worried because Bilbo had already taken this into account. He was well aware of just how much dwarves valued their pride. Gripping Kíli’s arms, he hoped he would get the message and let Bilbo do the talking.

“They called me an elf because I can’t grow a proper beard and then they said they were going to show me what they do to elves!” the faunt lied, purposefully using simpler language. 

Kíli stilled behind him. 

The man’s mouth thinned into a grim line, “and what do they do to elves?” he questioned, sounding like he already knew the answer. 

“Kill them,” Kíli answered for him in a low growl, and Bilbo nodded hugging one of the other boy’s knees in comfort. 

The man stood. “Take them to the Reforge!” he bellowed. “You know we won’t condone this sort of violence towards innocents; it is not something to be taken lightly!”

“Don’t worry, little kit,” the blonde dwarrowdame smiled at him as she secured a furious Brant’s arms securely behind his back. “Ye’ll never have to see them again.”

“But what about Kíli?” he gripped that knee a little tighter. 

“Not to worry, lads,” nodding, the older gentleman offered them both a hand up. “These three tried to hurt a kit and technically threatened to kill one in front of a witness. They won’t be let off lightly.”

Bilbo swallowed thickly. “What will happen to them?”

“They’ll be Reforged,” he said as he turned. “We’ll whip ‘em into shape.”

The little hobbit turned alarmed eyes to Kíli for confirmation, wondering to what ends they had just sent the three adolescents too. He was stunned to see him grinning at him. 

“Not literally, in this case, probably. The Reforge is a non-optional attitude adjustment academy.” He scrunched his nose in distaste, though whether at his words or the dust he was brushing off his leather breeches, Bilbo couldn't say. “Now,” he turned fully to stand in front of the small creature, looking down at him with an intriguing light in his dark eyes. “Who are you? You’re no dwarf.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer but he never got the chance. 

“BILBO!” his mother shouted, pushing through the throng of people to reach the centre. 

He looked at his father’s pocket watch. “That was faster than I thought by a full minute,” he muttered to himself.

When he turned to face her, he’d been right, her sword was drawn, hair dripping wet from her bath and clothes in disarray. Her eyes were wild with fear as she pushed through the last layer of dwarves to lay her eyes on her son. Bilbo didn’t hesitate. He launched himself at her and hugged her tightly around her waist. Sheathing her sword, she gripped him back, breathing heavily. 

“What's happened; what’s the matter, are you hurt?” she pulled back, turning his face this way and that, gasping when she saw the redness and the bruises that were beginning to form. “Who did this?” she yelled. 

“Mother, mother, I’m alright!” he pulled on her sopping hair to get her attention and keep her from glaring holes through the nice dwarrow who were looking on with large smiles on their faces. They obviously approved of Belladonna Took. 

“I’ll skin them alive and feed their meat to swine!” she swore, clutching him tighter and rocking him side to side.

Bilbo’s eyes widened at her vehemence and graphic language. Hurrying to dissuade her, he waved his hands back and forth. “You don’t have to go that far! I think Kíli took the worst of it. He was protecting me.”

She blinked, appearing to focus in on his face a bit more. “Kíli? Who is he?”

“I don’t know yet, but I will.” 

Her eyes filled with recognition on what the statement meant. She glanced around and found the young dwarf scuffing the tip of one boot against the ground. She sucked in a breath at his disheveled state and fluttered over to him, giving him the same treatment. Kíli stared at her in wide-eyed wonder as she tilted his head in seeming random directions, inspected his red ear, and even insisted on checking to make sure all his teeth were there. 

Their audience trickled away from them, giving them well-wishes until soon they were left alone in the alley. Bilbo took advantage of his mother’s distraction and retrieved his toy and sash from the barrel. 

“I’ll really be fine,” the poor boy tried to convince her. “If something was really wrong, I’d go to Óin. He’s a healer.”

“Well, then, I suggest that you start leading the way to him then.” She ordered, crossing her arms and waiting. 

Kíli’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fí is going to have a hammer up is arse forever if he finds out about this,” he groaned. 

“Onwards, Young Master Dwarf!” she paid his belly-aching no mind. “And on the way, you can tell me all about what happened. Bilbo. Here, now.”

“When did you get so bossy?” her son muttered under his breath as he took her hand again. 

“Did you think for a second that I wouldn't come when I heard my faunt scream for the second time in his life, loudly enough that I could hear it in the baths that are embedded deep into the mountain?” she demanded. “And since I see no broken bones, bodies, or severed limbs you had better have the best excuse of your life for this, Bilbo Baggins.”

“How could you tell it was him?” the other boy took her other hand and smiled up at her adoringly, forgetting his anticipated troubles. 

“A mother-hobbit always knows,” she intoned.

Bilbo looked around her to make eye contact with Kíli to assure him, “it’s the ears.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Óin attempts to treat the two younglings that come into his clinic but Kíli doesn't make it easy as he regales them all with his latest adventure and his new favourite partner-in-crime, Bilbo. When the rest of the Durins arrive, there are certain questions that need to be answered. Much to Bilbo's chagrin, Thorin is there as well. He decides to get the apology over with sooner rather than later. The grumpy blacksmith doesn't respond to it at all like Bilbo figured he would.


	12. In Which they Gather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Óin attempts to treat the two younglings that come into his clinic but Kíli doesn't make it easy as he regales them all with his latest adventure and his new favourite partner-in-crime, Bilbo. When the rest of the Durins arrive, there are certain questions that need to be answered. Much to Bilbo's chagrin, Thorin is there as well. He decides to get the apology over with sooner rather than later. The grumpy blacksmith doesn't respond to it at all like Bilbo figured he would.

“You should have seen him, Mistress Belladonna!” Kíli waved his hands excitedly under Óin’s working hands. 

“Tch! Hold still.” the healer ordered, pushing the dwarfling’s arms down in an attempt to still him.

Belladonna eyed her son suspiciously. “Yes, do tell. What _ did _he do?”

“Well,” he continued as Óin applies salve around his neck. “There I was, pinned to the wall by three of the biggest, meanest dwarrow in Ered Luin. They called me an elf and threatened to do to me what they do to elves!” he stood up and ran to the nearest wall, pinning himself against it in an imitation of what had transpired earlier. He jerked back and forth against it to illustrate his point. “I was struggling, but they had a hand over my mouth and one around my neck too! I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it home tonight,” he said as he looked at them through wide eyes from his now crouched position. 

“Well, lad, what happened?” Óin demanded, not seeming to notice that he’d gotten wrapped up in the story. 

“Bilbo was suddenly there out of nowhere! None of us had heard him approach and then he was right behind the bullies.” He squatted lower to make himself shorter and made his eyes large and innocent as he looked at Belladonna. “‘What do you do to elves?’”

Bilbo harumphed from where he was sitting, thinking his voice wasn’t quite so high as Kíli portrayed it to be. Belladonna chortled and nearly fell backwards off the stool she was sitting on. 

“He would!” she laughed, and it sounded like holiday bells to Bilbo’s ears.

Óin threw his hands up in exasperation and gave up on trying to get Kíli to hold still. Bilbo, it turned out, was the more cooperative of his two patients. Bilbo held still while the healer began the examination. 

Kíli popped up to continue with his story. “So Grall, Barnt, and Rant told him they _ killed _elves,” the older boy told Belladonna conspiratorially. “You’ll never guess what Bilbo did.”

“He asked why.”

“He asked— how did you know?” Kíli guffawed, sounding quite disappointed.

Her eyes twinkled as she looked at her son. “He is as predictable as he is unpredictable,” she informed him. She was fluent in Bilbo, after all.

Kíli’s nose scrunched up in thought but abandoned the riddle after not succeeding after around two seconds. “Well anyways. They didn’t have an answer for him, so Bilbo gave them a lecture right then and there, pacing back and forth without a care in the world!”

“Oh?” she turned her sharp gaze to her son, studying him. “And what is it that he said?”

“I don’t remember his exact words but it was something along the lines of—” he crouched down low again and raised his voice. “If you kill elves for the fun of it, then you have no honor; if you kill elves for safety or something, then you’re afraid of them!” he bounced back up to the balls of his feet. “And they were so angry with him they forgot about me and started going after him!”

She glared at her son, not noticing when the door opened. “Why did you let them hurt you?”

Bilbo shrugged. “I needed evidence to convict them of their crime, so I provided a situation where evidence would be...well, evident I suppose.”

Kíli’s jaw dropped. Dís’ eyebrows raised. Fíli’s eyes lit up. Thorin’s scowl darkened. Belladonna nodded as though Bilbo’s solution made perfect sense. 

“So you pulled my sister-son into your schemes?” the blacksmith growled. 

Bilbo nearly jumped out of his chair in surprise. “Mister Thorin?” he nearly gave himself whiplash turning to gape at the man. 

“No, no, Uncle!” the dark-haired boy hurried to assure him. “He saved my honour in front of our peop—” he cut himself off to revise. “The people of Belegost.”  
  
Fíli marched up to his brother and shoved him away from the main group to speak in frantic whispers. The conversation resumed without them. 

“Did he now?” Dís scanned the kit’s bruised arms, back and neck. 

Bilbo turned away from them again, expression nonchalant but ears burning as he pulled his shirt back on. Óin made to protest, but Bilbo promised him he’d apply the salves properly on both his pulled muscle and his bruises, and Belladonna volunteered to see it done as well.

When Dís glanced at the woman sitting on the stool for the first time since entering the room, she had to do a double-take. All the air left her lungs. Belladonna's wet hair looked inky against the soft cream colour of her shirt. Dís gulped as her eyes trailed down a little lower, and then jerked back up to the woman's face. “Ah,” she smiled, voice wavering a bit. “I see you are here as well, Lady Belladonna.”

Belladonna grinned and swung her legs back and forth, looking younger than her fifty years. “I was summoned,” she chuckled, but there was still a bit of unease in her voice. 

“Summoned?” Thorin’s eyebrows furrowed, his question inadvertently giving his sister a moment to recover. “Summoned how? By who?”

Sighing, Bilbo hopped off his stool and turned to cross over to his mother. “I am the one who summoned her, inadvertent as it was.”

She tsked, petting her faunt’s hair for comfort. “Don’t lie, songbird, you needed me, so I was there.”

Bilbo blushed and shook his head. “I was just trying to get the attention of the dwarrow outside the alleyway.”

“Then why did you scream so loudly?” she challenged. 

“Because the dwarrow in the vicinity were apparently hard of hearing,” he grumbled.

“Excuse me,” Dís choked out, finally able to use her voice again. “But why are you wet, Lady Belladonna?”

“Hmm?” his mother pulled the damp cotton shirt away from her torso so gauge how much water it had soaked up. “Well, I had to run all the way from the baths, so—”

“The baths?” Thorin interjected, eyes disbelieving. “Those are tucked away deep in the heart of the mountain where the hot springs are. How could you have heard him screaming from there? Was he right outside?”

Belladonna did not look offended, impressed, or even bothered by his rudeness. She took it in stride. Tilting her head to the side, she showed off the ear that wasn’t mangled, twitching it back and forth. “We Hobbits have excellent hearing,” she divulged. “And I would know the sound of my faunt in distress anywhere.” Her eyes looked far away for a moment. “I’m convinced that even if he were all the way across Middle Earth, I would still be able to hear him if he screamed.”

Bilbo’s heart tightened, knowing what she was remembering. Her hair was a wet, snarled mess. It hung in a thick curtain over the scarred portion of his face. Frowning, he pulled his comb from his waistcoat pocket and tugged on her arm twice to signal her. She moved to the floor as requested, and Bilbo took the place she’d just vacated, humming the elven lullaby he knew was her favourite as he began combing her hair. 

“Bilbo,” Dís started slowly, not taking her eyes off Belladonna. “Where exactly in the city were you?”

Bilbo honestly didn’t know. It was a good thing that Kíli was finished with the secret conversation so he could answer for him. Fíli was still glaring at the bruises on his younger brother’s neck from where he stood behind him. 

“In the Western Sect,” Kíli informed her cheerfully.

The look of awed admiration that was settled on Bilbo’s oblivious mother made him smile. With her hair untangled, he could now began sectioning hair for the Defender Braid. He liked to do them in alphabetical order, and his mother didn’t care which one went in front so long as they were all in her hair.

"And the scum that hurt you two?" the blacksmith growled. "Have they been dealt with?"

Kíli nodded. "Sent to the Reforge."

Thorin nodded jerkily and sat down on the padded bench that patients typically occupied. 

“Who taught you to braid like that?” Fíli asked, speaking up for the first time, inching closer to watch Bilbo's clever fingers.

Bilbo almost missed that the question was for him. “Oh, my dwarrow friends in Bree taught me how to do it for her.”

“That’s a Defender’s Braid,” he pointed out. 

Belladonna smiled up at the blond. “So it is.”

“Will you put any others in?” Kíli joined his sibling in observing the pair. It was obviously a routine they were both familiar with. 

Belladonna turned her head more to the left so Bilbo could section off the next braid. “Four in total. Defender, Guardian, Mother, and Warrior. Bilbo likes to do it in alphabetical order.”

“Of course he does,” Dís remarked a trifle fondly, moving closer. “You are very skilled, young master hobbit.”

Ducking his head he thanked her.

“Do you wear any braids in your hair?” Fíli wondered, trying to make them out in his nest of bouncy curls.

“No,” the faint shook his head, tone casual. “While my mother earned her scars through courage and honor, I earned mine through weakness and cowardice.”

No one spoke after that until Bilbo completed the braids. Even Thorin remained quiet as he watched them with eyes that missed nothing. The young business-hobbit sighed. He might as well get it over with. He postponed what was bound to be an unpleasant interaction until he finished with the Warrior’s Braid. He went over the words in his head and silently mouthed them, hoping he wouldn't stutter in his nervousness.

With determination, he stood up and marched over to where Thorin was sitting on one of the examination tables. He looked startled to see Bilbo approach him. Bilbo took a fortifying breath. Then he bowed deeply. 

“I apologize, Mister Thorin. I was disrespectful earlier this afternoon and I was not aware at the time that my words were as deep an insult as they would be inter-interpreted as. My temper got the best of me and I should not have let it.” 

He remained parallel with the floor until hands that were just a bit rough tugged him upright and he found himself staring into his face. It was slightly red, and he did not make eye contact as he spoke. 

“I am also at fault. It was inappropriate of me to act on my paranoia. I did not mean to scare you when I was talking to you afterwards either. I’m…_ unused _to children who are not dwarves. It seems there are some differences between a hobbit’s heart and that of a dwarf’s.”

Bilbo was a little worried about the fluttery sensation that had taken up inside his chest and how the air suddenly felt a lot thinner, but he couldn’t help beaming up at the man. Perhaps Bilbo had misjudged the grouchy dwarrow. Before this conversation, Bilbo would have thought he was just rude, ill-tempered and paranoid. Now Bilbo thought he was rude, ill-tempered, and paranoid but with a possibility of redeeming qualities. 

“Thank you for your apology,” he rested his hands on Thorin’s knees, feeling very pleased with him. “I forgive you.”

Thorin was completely red now. _ He must be holding his breath too, _Bilbo decided. _I wonder why we are doing that?_

“But it’s not good to hold your breath for too long, you should stop,” he advised. “You’re getting all red!”

“Well, you are too!” Thorin barked, standing up and pushing past Bilbo as he stomped towards the door. He passed a stunned looking Dís and a contemplative Belladonna on his path. If he’d bothered to look, he would have seen both his nephews gaping at him. But he didn’t look; he just slammed the door behind him.

Bilbo let his hands fall down to his sides, frowning and wondered what had made Thorin mad. _Perhaps Thorin is always mad, _he filed the theory away for careful analysis later.

The door opened again and Thorin was there, glaring at Bilbo. “I forgive you as well,” he yelled before slamming the door harder this time. 

Bilbo jumped at the volume of it all and then blinked in confusion. “Mother,” he called. 

Belladonna, who had been watching the conversation avidly, smiled peacefully at her son. “Yes, dear?”

“I think we must speak more loudly amoung the dwarrow. I believe they must yell because they are hard of hearing.”

Dís would swear on her life until the day she entered her maker’s halls that she had, in fact, been in danger of dying of laughter that day. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, a banquet is held in celebration of the caravan arriving. This means food, music, and strange dwarven dancing! Unfortunately for Bilbo, it also means meeting with the suspicious city lords who are none-too-happy with the little merchant for contacting Dís Burns and not them. In the meantime, Dís wonders if she should move forward with courting her own One, instead of just teasing her dumbstruck brother about his.


	13. In Which Dís is Bewitched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A banquet is held in celebration of the caravan arriving. This means food, music, and strange dwarven dancing! Unfortunately for Bilbo, it also means meeting with the suspicious city lords who are none-too-happy with the little merchant for contacting Dís Burns and not them. In the meantime, Dís wonders if she should move forward with courting her own One, instead of just teasing her dumbstruck brother about his.

It goes without saying that hobbits thoroughly enjoy their parties. In the Shire, a special occasion could always be made up if there wasn’t one already going on. Indeed, Belladonna had even been to a green fabric festival in her youth and had since gone to many others that were just as or even more ridiculous.

However, she had never been to a party quite like the one she was currently attending in all her life. Dwarves, she decided, were good fun; especially when they were imbibing. And imbibing they were. Belladonna wondered how they fit that much ale into their stomachs, much less the mountain! Rosy cheeks, big grins, loud voices, and the dancing. Oh, the dancing!

She was not sure if she could call it that. She laughed along with the others as the sturdy dwarves stomped and pivoted, heavy as the stones they mined. They danced to music that was comprised of drums and instruments of brass that they beat well-used wooden handles upon. She’d nought seen such a display in all her life.

Bilbo was fascinated. He held a small glass of wine in his left hand, still favouring his right from his adventures with the young Kíli the night before. She watched her son’s wide, curious eyes track the dwarrows’ movements, not seeming to notice as he was swaying in time with her. 

“Well, what is the verdict?” she smiled at him. “Do you like their parties?”

Bilbo eagerly nodded. “I do, even if I am worried about meeting the city lords later. But I’ve never seen dancing like this before, so it is a good trade.”

“I believe they could give the Shire a run for its money in terms of liveliness. Would you like to join them?”

“I think we hobbits might be a little too light on our feet to give their dancing justice,” he shook his head sadly. “And unfortunately, I am not aware of what dancing means in dwarven society. It’s possible it might be offensive if I were to try or if I mess up their rhythm. Or worse, sacrilege. Look how orderly they are!”

“They are indeed orderly,” she agreed. “But I do not think they would be offended. But you are right to some degree; hobbits dance in a very disorganized fashion. Shall we show them? Perhaps one of the drivers would know the tune to a common jig and we could line dance.”

Bilbo’s eyes lit up at the same time as his cheeks reddened. “I don’t want to stand up for everyone to watch!” he guffawed. 

“Watch what?”

Bilbo jumped at the sound of Kíli’s voice right between their heads. Belladonna laughed at her son and moved down to make room on the bench on the other side of Bilbo. The young dwarf hadn’t had any desire to leave Bilbo’s side for a while now and had to be dragged away by Fíli for formal introductions with his family earlier that evening. Poor Bilbo was unused to having a shadow or answering questions all the time. 

“Dancing!” she cheered. “Hobbits do it a bit differently, but we think your dancing looks very nice anyway.”

Kíli turned those big brown eyes on Bilbo. “You’re going to show us hobbit dancing?” he asked excitedly. 

Bilbo made to answer in the negative but Kíli was already turning away. 

“Fíli!” he bellowed across the room to where his brother stood. “The hobbits are going to show us hobbit dancing!”

Unfortunately, Fíli’s head wasn’t the only one who turned towards them. Much to Bilbo’s horror, they were instantly mobbed by curious and insistent dwarrow.

“Not when it would be just the two of us!” he cried, imploring his mother with his eyes. 

She paid him no mind. “Come! It will be good for you! We will need the proper music and a place to dance! Fíli, go ask the musicians to play a common jig for Men. If they can’t that waylay one of the drivers and coerce then to play a tune. Kíli, clear a space for us.”

“Won’t this be enough?” he pointed towards the small clearing that was about six feet in diameter. 

Belladonna snorted. “Not hardly!”

Kíli cheered at the prospect and began shooing people while his brother darted off with an excited grin on his face. Pulling her reluctant son behind her, she nearly skipped into the large circle with glee. She hoped it would be big enough. The dwarven song ended and a familiar tune rose above the crowd. The hobbits were visibly delighted at the sound of a fiddle. 

“Alright!” she called to the dwarrow around her. “In the Shire we clap to the rhythm of the son while the other’s dance!” she demonstrated, waiting for the dwarrow and dwarrowdames around her to imitate her. As she suspected, they were perfectly in time. 

“Which dance?” Bilbo queried, having given up trying to get out of it. 

“Old Buck’s Line Dance,” she instructed, and then counted off, “one, two, three and four!”

Their audience was startled when both hobbits began to move simultaneously at the end of the count. They moved at a speed their audience hadn’t thought them capable of, their large feet performed a complicated footwork combination against the cold stones beneath their feet, hands on their hips, legs kicking and feet sweeping the floor. Then they were turning, and leaping and clashing calves, then forearms against one another. It was a wild dance, and to the dwarves of Belegost, it was like being put under a spell. For as wild as their movements were, they remained perfectly in time with the music. There were cries of surprise when Belladonna leapt over Bilbo’s dancing form in a perfect arc. She landed easily and laughed at the worried dwarrow who cheered loudly when she achieved the feat. She swung Bilbo around and danced with ease until the song ended. 

She was glowing, inside and out. While logically she knew she’d never be the beauty she was in her youth with both age and her scars marring her features now, dancing never failed to make her feel like she was.

“Bilbo, are you okay?” Kíli demanded, having learned how fragile hobbit kits were in comparison to dwarf kits the previous day. “It looked like her feet might have clipped you!”

Bilbo waved away his concern, straightening out his jacket and attempting to look unmussed. “I was crouched; she didn’t hit me,” he panted.

Belladonna snorted, “Oh, faunt, I wouldn’t have been able to clear him if he hadn’t ducked at the last minute. I’m not overly spry!”

“I beg to differ,” a warm voice murmured from behind her. “That was an amazing dance, Lady Belladonna.”

Belladonna turned and smiled at Dís. “Why thank you, Lady Dís. But shall we not dispense with the formalities?”

“Then I may call you Belladonna?” she inquired, attempting to keep the hope from her voice. 

“Only if I may call you Dís.”

“You may,” Dís breathed out. At the sound of her sons' chortling, she straightened and put on a rather bland expression. “If you wish. Would you like to sit down and eat with me? I’m sure we’d have much to talk about.”

“Yes, please,” Thorin grumbled as he walked by, having heard the last of his sister’s words. “Take her away and feed her so she’ll leave me alone.”

Fíli surprised Bilbo by grabbing hold of his hand and chased after the man, singing, “oh, Uncle!”

Thorin's panicked looked and subsequent attempt to make a hasty retreat made Dís laugh at her family’s antics. When she turned back to look at Belladonna, she was startled to see the hobbit watching her. 

“How old are your boys?” she asked, giving her full attention to her.

Dís felt a little overwhelmed under the weight of those intuitive eyes. If she had to guess than Dís would suppose the woman’s carefree nature made people take her for less than what she was. 

She swallowed, keeping her gaze firmly focused on Belladonna’s warm, curious eyes and not her full, lush lips or Mahal forbid, her curly, inky hair. “Fíli is only thirty-four, and Kílis is twenty-nine.”

Belladonna’s eyes bulged. “They are adults?”

It took a moment for Dís to understand her train of thought. “Oh! No, no, Kíli has only just barely entered adolescence. They are both still considered children, but no longer kits.”

“Is ‘kit’ your word for a young child?” the hobbit wondered, reaching up to comb her fingers through her silver-streaked hair. 

Dís smiled approvingly. “It is. We stop calling them a kit after they are around twenty-five. And what about hobbits? How old is Bilbo?”

“Hobbits are considered to be well into adolescence at the age of twenty-five, and we call them faunts when they are young. As for how old Bilbo is, twelve, as far as I know.”

“Twelve?” it was Dís’ turn to be stunned. “He’s just a baby in dwarf years!” and then the woman’s other words caught up to her. “What do you mean, as far as you know? I assumed due to the resemblance between you that you were the one to give birth to him. Is that not the case?”

“Oh yes, I think _ that _is an event I will never have the pleasure of forgetting. Twelve years ago, I gave birth to my Bilbo.”

“Then why wouldn’t you know?”

Belladonna was quiet for a moment, seeming to think about her next words. Dís thought that at that moment she and her son shared a particular resemblance. 

“Hmm, the easiest way to put it would be to tell you some stories from when he was a baby if you are amenable.”

“I am; consider my curiosity piqued.”

Belladonna smiled and reached over to hold the other woman’s hand. She didn’t really understand why she did at the time, other than she felt like she should, so she did. 

“When he was six months old, he escaped his crib. Bungo and I had just woken up, so imagine how frazzled we were to find our baby missing! We were frantically trying to find him, so we looked in the kitchen, in my study where most of his fiddling toys were, and by the large window that he liked to sit next to. But he wasn’t in any of those places.”

“Where was he?”

“His father’s study, looking at maps. He was lying on his stomach pouring over them. He must have pulled himself there on his belly since he couldn’t walk or crawl yet.”

Dís hummed. “Is it strange for hobbit kits to move about or try to escape their nurseries?”

Belladonna laughed, shaking her head. “Indeed not. Though his father’s study was fully on the other side of the smial. He must have been pulling himself along by his forearms for a long while to get there. But that is not what was strange. The strange thing about it was that he had divided the maps into those for the west, and those for the east.”

The dwarrowdame’s eyebrows shot up. “Truly?”

“That was just the start. He would not speak until he could use a fully constructed sentence, and he had a product and a business by the time he was ten. Bilbo always knew things before he should have. We did not teach him to read but he knew how anyways. He has the most beautiful handwriting anyone has ever seen and sings elvish songs to me that I know he should not know.”

“Is he a Seer? Have you asked him?”

Belladonna shook her head. “I do not think so. He_ remembers _ things that are _ going _to happen.” Her eyes looked very far away and her grip of Dís’ hand grew tight. “The first time it happened we thought he was going to die. He collapsed right in front of my eyes, like a dead leaf falling from its branch during the second harvest. He slept for so long. When he woke up, he was not the same hobbit.”

Dís did not understand, but she did not speak. She senses Belladonna would just keep talking as long as she wasn’t interrupted.

The woman's eyes looked lost as she recounted her tale. “He looked so afraid. He was barely able to stand and he was trying to convince me he was going to Bree to get supplies. He was so desperate about it that I asked my father for permission to use his wagon to get him there. I wanted to watch him and see what he would do.

“He bought preserved and fermented food, talked to rangers about more protection during the winter that year, and commissioned four dwarves at the smithy to craft hobbit-sized swords. I thought it was paranoia, that he was afraid for himself or us over the winter, but he distributed everything equally among our neighbours' homes as well as ours with detailed instructions on how much and when it should be used, as well as how to use it. The people of Hobbiton thought it was funny that they received swords from him as well. They did not think it was funny when the wolves came.”

Dís sucked in a breath. 

The sound seemed to draw Belladonna out of the past and she paled a bit. “I’m sorry, Lady Dís,” she tried to chuckle but it fell flat. “I’m not sure why I’m talking about such dark things. It is a celebration, is it not?”

When the hobbit tried to pull her hand away, Dís tightened her grip and moved closer. She wasn’t sure where her sudden burst of brazenness came from, but she would use it to her advantage while she still had it. “Dís,” she corrected. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Dís,” she repeated, reaching up to brush a lock of hair that had fallen over the unscarred portion of her One’s face. “We are on a first-name basis now, are we not? And I would hear any memory that you would share with me.”

Belladonna searched her eyes, and Dís wondered what she would see there. The exiled princess wasn’t exactly sure what was happening to her. She was confident and sure-footed in every aspect of her life, yet somehow, even though she knew she must be older than Belladonna, the hobbit made her feel like a child, tripping over their own boots. She was no naive maiden any longer. She’d had relations with both dwarrow and dwarrowdames and bore children. So why did she feel like a floundering kit around this woman? There was no training, no warning, no experience that could have prepared her for Belladonna’s next question.

“Dís, is there something you wish to tell me?”

The air seemed to freeze in her lungs, and her heart started beating wildly. She fought against the desire to deny it. Saying anything felt like she was saying it through a mouthful of gems. 

“Is it such a scary thing to say?” the hobbit murmured, reaching out with hesitant fingers to tuck Dís’ hair behind her hear. 

Dís made a choking, wheezing sound. “Yes,” she managed. 

Belladonna smiled, “then I will wait.”

_ Perhaps this was how Bilbo felt as well. Understood, accepted, and completely bewitched. _Dís marveled, lost in the depths of her brown eyes.

“I think you must have some sort of magic about you, Belladonna.”

Belladonna leaned in to whisper in her companion’s ear. “If I had any magic, then I would use it on you.”

If one could die laughing, Dís reasoned that one could die blushing as well.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo is dragged along by Fíli and Kílis to chase after Thorin. He receives a useful piece of information from Fíli in thanks for rescuing his brother when he couldn't. Playing with Thorin is fun, Bilbo has decided. He didn't realise that they were being watched.


	14. In Which Thorin Gets to Know Bilbo a Bit Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is dragged along by Fíli and Kílis to chase after Thorin. He receives a useful piece of information from Fíli in thanks for rescuing his brother when he couldn't. Playing with Thorin is fun, Bilbo has decided. He didn't realise that they were being watched.

The line of Durin would be the death of him, he just knew it. Bilbo had been dragged away from his mother and Lady Dís by Fíli and Kíli in pursuit of Thorin. Why they were running the dwarf obviously trying to avoid them, he didn’t know. All he knew was that Fíli and Kíli were much too tall. His right arm burned where he’d pulled a muscle and his feet barely touched the ground as the two dwarf brothers gave chase. Bilbo was already exhausted from the dance! He didn’t want to run anywhere for a long time.

“Damn, we lost him,” the blond boy said sadly. 

“Why were we following him?”

Kíli had yet to lose his good spirits, apparently. “Because he acts all funny when he’s near you! He actually _ apologized _to you.”

Bilbo frowned. “Is that rare?”

Fíli nodded. “Uncle doesn’t like to apologize. He says it makes him sound like he regrets his actions, and that he never does anything he doesn’t regret.”

Bilbo looked at the elder brother with no amusement. _ Your Uncle is such a liar, _he thought but did not say it aloud. 

“Kíli, go over to that open staircase and see if you can spot him. I’ll stay down here with our merchant.”

“But why?” he whined. 

“Because you said you want to be an archer. Archers have much keener eyes than swordsmen.” Fíli informed him, grinning because he knew how Kíli would react. 

His eyes brightened. “Okay! I’ll be right back.” Then he scampered off into the crowd. 

Bilbo watched him go and tried not to laugh. The boys didn’t have a huge gap in age difference. He wondered why there was such a difference in their maturity. 

“I never got to thank you,” Fíli smiled at Bilbo, still holding onto Bilbo’s hand. “For saving my brother, I mean. I can’t be with him all the time anymore and he thinks it’s dishonourable to admit weakness.”

“I don’t know if being bullied could be considered a weakness, but you’re welcome in any case.”

“Dwarves don’t like taking favours. Let me give you something in return.”

“It wasn’t a favour, it was basic common decency.”

“That aside, I still want to give you something in return. I don’t have much I can give you that would be much worth to you, no gems or gold or riches,” he paused and glanced around casually. “But you seem to be a boy who values words more than coin.”

Bilbo was frightfully curious to see where this was going. “I would agree,” he admitted carefully.

Fíli tilted his head slightly and spoke quietly. “Later, you now that the city lords will call upon you and your mother. What you don’t know is that they’re going to try to trap you with your own words. They believe you are loyal to the line of Durin because you know the name. Do not mention it while you are here. We are of the line of Burns here to those that know us. You’re just a little thing, so they’ll underestimate you. Use that to your advantage.”

Kíli came bounding back, cutting off any reply Bilbo might have made. “I found him!” he whispered loudly to be heard over the din and his own panting. “He’s in the next room. I could see from the upper hallway.”

Bilbo tried to back away out of their reach, but they were too fast. They grabbed him up under his arms this time, which was much better because there was less pull in his damaged forearm. The hobbit made no attempt to keep up with their size and speed. Instead, he picked up his feet and curled his legs against his chest as best he could.

Their poor Uncle was startled to see them bounding into the dining hall. He tried to make a quick escape. So of course, Fíli and Kílis ran after him. Thorin scowled when he looked over his shoulder and saw Bilbo’s predicament. “Let Bilbo go, you’ll rip his arms off,” he advised, still walking quickly.

Grinning, Fíli replied, “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Bilbo groaned as he realized neither boy had any intention of releasing him. Thankfully, Thorin took pity on him. He turned and grabbed Bilbo under his arms, pulling him up and away from his sister-sons. 

“He’s fragile,” he reminded them sternly. 

Bilbo was only slightly offended, but he really was too distracted by Thorin’s intricate braids. They looked more intricate and formal than they had the previous day. The one that especially held his attention was a braid that began as one and branched off into two, tied off with pretty beads at the ends. He reached out and grabbed it, tugging it a little. Thorin’s head jerked towards him. Fíli and Kíli had been about to shoot back a comment at their Uncle but went silent when they noticed Bilbo’s fascination. 

“And young,” he murmured. “How old are you, Bilbo?”

“This is brand new, only twelve years old,” he beamed up at the blacksmith, patting his chest to indicate. “I’m still getting used to it.”

_ “Very _young,” he amended, looking a little lost. “You’re just a baby.”

Affronted, Bilbo put his hands on his hips, even knowing that since Thorin was carrying him on his hip, the effect was lost. “I’m over halfway to full maturity,” he tsked. 

“Truly?” the golden-haired boy asked, coming to stand beside him. “You’re so lucky! I have to wait until I’m sixty to do anything fun!” he complained. 

Bilbo shook his head. “Being an adult isn’t fun at all. All anyone cares about is money, social standing, and when you'll settle down and have kids. You have to cook for yourself and then there’s family waiting for you to die so that they can have your things!” he educated them with no small amount of distaste.

Kíli’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think about it that way.”

“And since you’re dwarves,” the little faunt continued, not noticing he was back to stroking Thorin’s hair. “You’ll be expected to go to war against creatures of the dark, and sometimes, other creatures of the light,” he told them sadly.

Fíli’s chest puffed out. “War is honourable.”

“Yeah, it’s where dwarves earn their battle scars and glory!” his brother agreed, excitement shining in his eyes. 

Thorin didn’t say anything, but Bilbo did. “War is not honourable. It’s dirty and bloody, and sometimes you lose yourself to the fear or the rage of war. Life loses its value because you've seen so many lives lost. There’s no glory in war, only in returning to what you left behind.” 

Thorin stared in surprise at the hobbit. Someone of his age should not know what war looks like. Especially a hobbit. But Bilbo’s eyes looked far away, as though watching something that he could truly see in his field of vision. The sad little smile he gave the boys as he touched the scarred side of his face made Thorin’s heartache.

“And I envy you two. You haven’t been touched by darkness yet,” he told them, reaching down and petting Kíli’s hair as though he were the elder between the two of them. “So don’t be in such a hurry to leave the light behind, okay?”

They both stared at him with wide eyes and drew closer. “Yes, Bilbo,” they responded quietly. 

When Thorin began walking aimlessly again and Bilbo laid down against his shoulder, deep in thought. The blacksmith couldn’t help but notice similar expressions on his sister-sons’ faces too as they held the hobbit's hands. Even when they entered another room where the party was going on, none of the boy’s spoke.

When he looked down at Bilbo, Thorin realized the little one had fallen asleep on his shoulder. His heart melted just a bit. Locating an empty table, he headed towards it with purpose and was grateful that it remained empty until he got there. Once he sat, he rocked Bilbo back and forth like he’d done to Fíli and Kíli decades ago. The boys only remained silent for all of two minutes. Soon losing interest in sitting without conversation or entertainment, they both made a beeline to the food, never straying more than a step from one another. 

Bilbo sniffed against his shoulder and leaned back to rub his eyes. “I fell asleep?” he asked. 

“Only for a moment,” the blacksmith assure him.

Bilbo sighed. “And I thought old people took a lot of naps. I can’t get used to how much sleep I need.”

Thorin was still getting used to the odd way that his tiny hobbit spoke, but chuckled none-the-less, not realizing he was almost smiling. “How much sleep do you need in a day?”

“I tend to prefer sixteen to eighteen hours.”

“That is quite a lot," the blacksmith agreed.

“Do you think there’s magick that would keep me awake for longer?” he asked hopefully, awake and alert once more. 

Thorin debated whether or not he should tell the boy about Kaffee. Then he remembered what happened when his sister-sons learned of it. _ Best not to mention it, _he decided. “Hobbits drink tea, don’t they? Try black tea.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Bilbo replied. “I shall, thank you. Perhaps one of father’s books hold some information on spells. Perhaps I could make it into some sort of potion.”

“I know someone who is capable of making healing potions,” he mentioned, wondering why he was still talking about this. “You met him yesterday.”

“Ah, I think I know who you’re talking about. The grumpy healer.”

A bark of laughter was Thorin’s response. 

Bilbo looked up at him innocently and asked, “do you two get along well?”

Then he was scowling again. 

The hobbit’s face twitched with amusement. Thorin watched as Bilbo tried to smooth his expression but ultimately lost the battle to his laughter. His stiff face crumpled into laughing one. Thorin thought his heart had stopped. He couldn’t help but smile at Bilbo. With the hobbit so obviously enjoying himself, how could the blacksmith not do the same?

“You are very impertinent, you know that?” he grouched, still grinning at the boy. 

“Sorry, Mister Thorin,” he giggled. “You are fun to play with. Your expressions change so quickly!”

In response, Thorin clutched him back against his chest, but only because he knew Bilbo wouldn’t know the reason for how hard his heart was thumping against his ribcage. With any luck, the thick leather and fur that lay between them would hide it. He doubted it. 

_ I can’t deny it anymore, _ he admitted, relaxing even as Bilbo pulled back to sit on the bench next to him. _ Even if I pretend I don’t know who he is to me, it won’t change the fact that he is. _

Thorin had been dumbfounded at his heart’s reaction to the young hobbit when he’d climbed up on top of the wagon’s bench. Bilbo was a funny little creature. Beardless, small featured, and had hairy little feet. Not at all the dwarven standard of cuteness. So why had his heart nearly burst at the sight of him, and why had he wanted to pull him off the wagon so he wouldn’t be in danger of falling?

The answer didn’t come to him until later that evening when he’d come to Óin’s to check on Kíli. The strange thing was, he hadn't noticed the Spark the first time he'd grabbed Bilbo outside the caravan that evening. Thinking back, there'd been a pleasant sort of hum, but he'd dismissed it as his Stone Sense feeling the mountain beneath his feet. Yet, later that evening when the tiny creature had apologized to him and rested his hands on Thorin’s kneecaps, he’d felt the Spark. It shot through him and made every hair follicle tingle. He’d been so startled by it that he’d snapped at the poor thing again and run from the room! He was still reeling with the realisation. 

Bilbo was a hobbit. His life span was remarkably shorter than Thorin’s. That scared him most of all. What if Bilbo did not choose him? As far as he was aware, hobbits were not bound by any soul links like elves and dwarves were. Being so young, he could choose any path he wanted, especially seeing he was already carving so many paths for himself to choose from! Or what if Bilbo fell in love with someone else?

_ What would I do without my…my…_ he swallowed. _Without my One? _

“Thorin?” the curly hair waved in front of his vision. 

He focused on the boy again, realizing that Bilbo had been trying to get his attention for a while now. “Yes?”

“Are you hungry? Fíli and Kíli brought us food,” he pointed at the singular plate and fork in front of them. 

Thorin looked across the room to where his sister-sons were snickering and watching with mischief in their eyes. He glared at them while he spoke. “No, you go ahead. I’ll eat a little later.”

“Are you sure? How about this bread? It’s different colours!” he suggested, excitement shining in his eyes as he looked from the slice he was offering him to his face.

And because Thorin _was_ actually hungry, just not willing to play his nephew’s games, he took the slice gratefully. “Thank you,” he grumbled, wondering how the dwarflings had guessed who Bilbo was to him so quickly.

“You are most welcome,” his young companion chirped. 

Thorin spoke to Bilbo while he ate, enjoying when the kit’s eyes would light up at his stories, or the tilt of his head to show he was really listening and thinking about whatever it was Thorin was saying. He felt like he would be happy to remain like that forever. Unfortunately, his weren’t the only eyes trained on Bilbo.

Unbeknownst to him, the city lords were watching to interaction. The two young dwarves came and went every few minutes, bring food or ale for Thorin and the little hobbit in his arms. 

Since the hobbit was asleep in the exiled king’s arms, they obviously knew each other well enough for the little one to trust him. That wasn’t good. In fact, that was dangerous. Because their informants had told them that Belladonna Baggins was the daughter of the king of the Shire, and the merchant Bilbo was Belladonna’s son. If the Shire meant to ally themselves with the line of Durin, it might mean they were plotting to take away the city lords’ power. That just wouldn’t do. Not when they had come this far. There was too much riding on their power to give it up now. It was theirs! Belegost was theirs! And they weren’t about to allow a tiny “business-hobbit” to overthrow them. How hard could it be to scare a pair of nosy hobbits away from Ered Luin? It couldn't be too difficult. After all, they weren’t opposed to using force.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo and Belladonna meet with the city lords.


	15. In Which Bilbo Greets the City Lords

_ It’s interesting, _ Bilbo thought to himself as he and his mother were guided up the steps to a raised platform. _ How this platform seems to be a stage. I wonder if the city lords are props as well. _

A pleasant memory rose inside his mind of a play he’d watched in Rivendell when he’d retired there. It had been beautiful. This situation did not look beautiful to young Bilbo. It looked ominous. With the guards close at their backs _‘guiding’_ them up the stairs, it seemed more like being forced to climb them. Without thinking, he reached up and grabbed his mother’s hand. She squeezed his gently. 

When they stood at the top, looking into the down-turned faces of the dwarves on the risen chairs that resembled thrones to Bilbo’s eyes, he was struck with gratefulness for Fíli’s earlier kindness. Dark eyes that glittered like onyx watched him approach. Neither dwarf made any move to stand to acknowledge their presence. 

“My lords,” the guard behind Belladonna spoke loudly. “Belladonna Took and Bilbo Baggins are here to greet you.”

Bilbo was proud of his mother for not jumping and hoped that his startled reaction was missed. But with both the city lord’s eyes boring holes into him, he doubted it. 

Straightening his shoulders, he stepped forward and bowed easily. It had been a skill he’d practised in the Before after being around so many royal figures and leaders. “My lords, thank you for welcoming us into the city. We hope to have a prosperous business relationship with Belegost from now on.”

Instead of meeting Bilbo’s respect with their own, the white-haired lord waved a lazy hand to indicate himself and then the man sitting next to him. “I am Lord Terrenth and this is Lord Bragn. We are the rulers of Belegost.”

The dwarf with black hair sat back on the relative throne he’d appointed himself and studied Bilbo with his fingers folded over his large belly. “So you would understand how…_ confused _,” he paused for emphasis, “we were that is was not us who you contacted to negotiate trade, but our subordinate, Lady Dís.”

_ Fíli was right, _Bilbo thought. 

His training with the Thain kicked in and he praised Yavanna for all the hours he’d spent pouring over books on politics and diplomacy. “Is it common for the merchants and peddlers to approach the leaders of a people in dwarvish culture?” he asked, infusing worry into his tone. He bit his cheek for effect. 

His mother was quick on the uptake. She bowed, managing to make her’s remarkably similar to Bilbo’s, though he knew she’d never had to do it before. “If that is the case,” she began, voice repentant. “Then my son and I must apologize.”

Bilbo bowed against as well. 

Lord Bragn hummed, scratching his long beard. “And how is it that you know Lady Dís?”

Bilbo’s mind flew faster than Gandalf’s eagles, so that even as he began speaking he hadn’t decided how he should end his explanation. “I’ve met with dwarrow craftsmen in business before. One of them knew Lady Burns and mentioned that she was an honest and fair dwarrowdame.” Bilbo couldn’t help but notice the flash of satisfaction in Lord Terrenth’s eyes when he used Dís’ incorrect name in a hobbit-like fashion. It bolstered his courage. “I am a business-hobbit and a young one at that. I don’t have as much experience of reading people as those older than I do. Since I am still a child, working through recommendations from my connections is not only a safe way for me to do business but the _ only _way. Even if I had known to approach the city lords, what guarantee would I have that I would be taken seriously? I’m still small, and I am prone to mistakes.”

“You are,” Lord Bragn replied blandly. “But because we are generous hosts, we shall allow you to negotiate only with us in the future for the caravan to Ered Luin, is that understood, little kit?”

Bilbo bristled inwardly at the slight but smiled professionally. “You are understood, Lord Terrenth. May our business prosper.”

“Yes, yes,” he waved an idle hand in dismissal. 

Belladonna watched her son closely and made sure to follow his exact example. It did not escape her notice that he did not bow to them before leaving. It was an easy thing for a foreigner or a child to get wrong, but she knew better. Bilbo, in his own silent way, had basically spurned their _ generosity _and told them he held no respect for them. Whether or not they spoke Bilbo was irrelevant. 

She smiled quietly to herself as they descended the stairs back into the lively celebration, with the guards and their spears once more at their backs. She wasn’t sure what trouble he would bring about next, but she was a Took and enjoyed watching the trouble as much as she enjoyed creating it. It seemed her son was taking after her quite well. But a worry struck her: what could happen to Bilbo if the city lords were able to interpret his actions?

❦

Dís paced next to Thorin in the common area of the guest house. Why hadn’t they returned yet? What had happened. Her informant hadn’t reported anything of concern to her yet either, though she’d entrusted them to watch over their guests carefully as soon as they’d arrived. 

If Dís had thought Belladonna’s pull had been strong _ before _the woman had grabbed her hand, she’d been dead wrong. While they’d sat beside each other, Belladonna had begun to open up a little bit about the past of herself and her son. While she’d been talking, she’d grabbed Dís’ hand. And Dís had felt liquid fire run through every vein. It was called the Spark, yet, when she’d felt it, it hadn’t been a sudden sharpness, or the feeling of being lit up inside. It was the feeling of being changed, of warm heat spreading slowly and building in intensity. She was thankful she hadn’t had to speak much and that when she had, she’d recovered enough to do so without issue.

The problem was not feeling the Spark. The problem was that the one who had made her feel the Spark was no longer within arms reach. Logically, she knew that Belladonna could not be attached to her at the hip. She had her own son, after all, though from what she had gathered, her husband was either dead or out of the picture. 

_ Thank Mahal, _she couldn’t stop herself from thinking. 

But the situation was made so much worse since they were going to speak with the corrupt city lords. They were in danger and—

“The hobbit is my One,” Thorin said out of nowhere. 

Dís immediately snarled. “She’s mine!”

Thorin snorted at her vehemence even as he stepped back and waved his hands. “Not _ her, _the confusing one.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair in agitation. “I’m sorry, Thorin, I did not mean to snap at you. It’s just that—” The words he'd spoken finally hit her. “Wait, WHAT?”

Her brother straightened and glared at her. “And what of you? Is your love-sickness for the woman—”

“Belladonna.”

“Belladonna more than just a passing fancy?” he continued without missing a beat.

“She’s my One,” Dís admitted.

Thorin conked his head against the wall. “At least yours is an adult.”

Then a wonderful thought occurred to her. “I’m your sister and your mother-in-law all at the same time!” she laughed. “I’m going to make your life hell.”

Her brother groaned. “Don’t say things I already know. What am I going to do, Dís?”

“Thorin, do not make this out to be a bad thing. Finding your One is a gift!”

“My One is a child!” he roared.

“And mine has lived half her life without me!” she retorted at the same volume. 

Thorin fell into a chair and slumped. “Hobbits don’t live as long,” he whispered. 

“No,” Dís agreed. “But you get to stand by yours for the majority of his life, Thorin. How can that be anything but a gift?”

“What if he does not wish to bind himself to me? It is not as though anyone could blame him. He’s barely out of his crib!”

Dís had to snort at that. “I think you’ll find that he’s been out of his crib for longer than you think, if what Belladonna told me was any indication.”

Thorin lifted his head from where it had landed in his hands, eyes a bit brighter. “She was speaking to you of him?”

Knowing that her elder brother wanted to hear, she sat down across from him and began relaying everything that her One had told her about Bilbo to Thorin. By the end, he looked more confused than ever. 

“She said that he _‘remembers things that are going to happen’?_ How strange.”

Dís nodded. “Do you think he could be Gifted Twofold?”

Thorin stood and clasped his hands behind his back as he walked towards the fireplace to gaze into the blaze. “It would make more sense to think he was living a second life than to imagine such a young being with so much wisdom and experience. The question is why.” The reflection of the flame danced in his dark eyes as he looked into hers. “You know as well as I do that no one who is Gifted Twofold can be anything but detrimental to this world’s destiny.”

She nodded slowly. “And brother, he knew of our line. Whatever his destiny is, it is tied with ours.”

Thorin nodded. “The fact that he knows the name of Durin is enough evidence for me to put stock into this theory. For now, I say we wait. Perhaps we will uncover more proof as we get to know them better.”

“But only if you don’t scare him off again, Thorin. Did you really make him cry?” Dís reclined and smirked up at him.

Thorin’s upper lip curled. “He did not _ cry. _He only ran.”

“Do try not to frighten away our hobbits.”

“Only if you promise not to interfere with me and mine.”

Dís’ eyebrow arched. “You’d have better luck asking the mountain to be made of something other than stone.”

With a grumble, Thorin turned back to the fire, snapping, “and don’t tell Fíli and Kíli.”

“My dear brother, if you think they are not already aware that you are partial to Bilbo Baggins then you are a fool,” she advised with a smirk.

“Who other than a fool would commit themselves to a child’s whim?”

Dís stood and walked to stand beside him. “Anyone who met their One young, Thorin. Anyone like you. At least you won’t be so damned irritable all the time, and you won’t have any libido until you join when he’s of age!” she slapped him on the back encouragingly. 

Thorin beat his head against the mantle. “I have to wait five decades!” he lamented. 

Dís laughed hard, but she did not tell him his hobbit would reach maturity in two, not five. Why? Because it was her as much her job to support her brother as it was to torment him. She operated between one or the other on a minute to minute basis. 

She hugged him none-the-less. “You’ll be the best protector a child could ever ask for.”

“If he takes my beads,” Thorin grumbled. “I’ll need Mahal’s intervention just to work up the nerve to ask him. How on earth am I supposed to explain it to him?”

Dís couldn’t tease him about at that as a pair of laughing brown eyes flashed in her memory. “I’m wondering the same thing, brother.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, you get character art!


	16. Character Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is your consolation art! Sorry I couldn't get this out earlier. But it's up now!

If you want to be kept in the loop about new contests, challenges, and art, follow [my tumblr!](https://scribe-of-the-fey.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I never said it would be GOOD art.)


	17. In Which Bilbo is Attacked by Waking Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is summoned to negotiate with the city lords. He senses they suspect him of something. When their talk goes badly, he is sent away and it is on his way back that he is targeted. He never knew that help could come from the shadows.

Bilbo knew well the look his mother was giving him. It was a cross between speculation and frustration. He’d seen it mar her face many a time. His mother was loathe to allow him to walk into the dragon’s lair without her by his side to stand watch over him. But he knew that the city lords would behave differently around her than around him, and he wanted to use this as a sort of control experiment, per se. How would they behave when no one was around to listen? When he had no protectors. It would be a good indicator of how they treated the people they ruled when no one was looking.

“I’ll be fine, mother.”

“I don’t like this.”

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably. He and Belladonna did not usually butt heads. She enjoyed seeing the product of his machinations, and he enjoyed creating them. With both of them at odds, the young boy wasn’t sure what choice to make. “Do you trust me?”

Belladonna took a deep breath. “I trust you to do your absolute best. But this is public relations, Bilbo. And you are a child going up against unknown city lords. I may not doubt your intelligence, but they certainly will.”

_ And that is to my advantage, _he thought, though he did not say it aloud lest someone was listening. 

“How about we compromise?” he offered eagerly. “I’ll go in alone, but I won’t make any final decisions without talking to you.”

She raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “You’ll just decide in your heart what you’ll do and then I’ll have no say in the matter.”

Bilbo had to think. Was he really like that? “Hmm. I suppose that is the case,” he murmured, sounding as surprised as he felt. 

Chuckling, Belladonna relented. “I’ll allow it this once. But any further discussion must be done in my presence, _ and _I’ll be waiting outside for you to finish.”

“I accept!” the faunt bounced a bit in excitement. 

“Then let us make our way over there since there is no getting out of it. I am curious though, on what they would have to say. Do all merchants have to go through them to do business? No wonder such traffic is slow. Who would want to have to jump through so many hoops?”

Bilbo did not answer, because he didn’t know either. The city lord’s audience hall was located higher up in the mountain. This, of course, meant that they had to climb. Their dwarf guide, Endhur seemed to have no qualms about the ricketty, railless walkway they had to traverse. Not so for Yavanna’s children. As the whole of the warmly lit city dropped away beneath them, they found that neither of them could bear to peek over the edge at what had to be a magnificent few. 

“Hold to the wall, Bilbo,” his mother advised, looking a bit pale, but otherwise unruffled.

He just nodded. He wasn’t as brave as his mother was, after all. When Bilbo did as his mother directed, Endhur smirked at him slightly. Bilbo didn’t let it bother him. He was trying to conceal how winded he was by the time he reached the top of the stairs. Pulling his eyes from his path with some difficulty, he was surprised to see a young dwarrowdame waiting for them at the top of the stairs, overshadowed slightly by the entrance of the long corridor.

As they approached, Bilbo found his shoulders relaxing a bit. The young female had deep brown eyes and black hair, which likened her a bit to Kíli, though their facial features were different. She shifted a bit, uncomfortable with Bilbo’s starring. He looked away. 

“My name is Mintears,” she informed them quietly. “I am the city lord’s scribe; I’m here to guide you to the audience hall.”

Belladonna made for the comforting depths of the mountain, away from the dangerous edge. “Wonderful,” she said as she swept past the girl hurriedly, Bilbo in tow. “I’ll be waiting over there by that window.” 

Bilbo looked to where she was pointing. There was a cutout in the rock that would allow one to see out, but not _ fall _out. She would be able to enjoy the view from there. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he waved. 

She did not respond through words, just released his hand and pressed a kiss into his crown of curls. She did not watch him leave. 

Endhur stayed with Belladonna, and Mintears gestured for Bilbo to follow after her. Mintears looked to be just shy of adulthood, though what that meant in dwarf years, he couldn’t say. She carried an air of apprehension around her and seemed to have something on the tip of her tongue that she couldn’t quite manage to make herself say. 

The passageway was winding with many doors and hallways leading away from it. To the young hobbit's eyes it seemed a nonsensical maze. Had the Firebeard dwarves that had carved the city from the mountain long ago followed the veins of resources as they’d gone? Not even the floor was level as they wound their way deeper into the mountain.

In the end, they reached the doors to the audience hall before a word was spoken between them. As he set his shoulders back and held his head a little higher, he notices Mintears doing the same thing.

The guards to either side stared at Bilbo with equally confused expressions as they opened the heavy wooden doors. Iron hinges sang and Bilbo refrained from bringing his hands to his ears to escape the noise. He wondered if that was purposeful. 

An audience hall was not necessarily a throne room, though this one could have been. The city lords sat on either side of the room, sitting diagonally, so as to point towards the door. It gave the viewer the sense of being surrounded. Bilbo would bet his annual profits the set up was intentional. 

Mintears ducked her head ever so slightly and moved quickly to sit beside a pillar off to the side, braided brown hair swaying with her movement. 

“Welcome, Bilbo Baggins. Was your amad too busy to join us?” Lord Bragn raised a brow in disapproval from his throne-like chair to the right.

“While my mother was the one to find the wagons and steeds for me to buy, she is not involved in the business of managing the caravan. She is waiting outside.”

“I see. Few mothers would allow their child such freedoms. Is it common in the Shire to let one’s young run wild?” Lord Terrance’s upper lip curled slightly even as he smiled. 

Bilbo saw Mintears quietly writing with her records propped up on her stool from the corner of his eye. Interesting that she was recording everything already. He wondered how much of what she was writing down was accurate and how much would give the city lords leeway.

He crossed his arms and tapped his foot. “Do you think running a business is running wild?” Never mind that the Shire did indeed think so; they didn’t need to know that. 

“You are a child in an adult’s world, young Bilbo,” the lord to the right cajoled, sending a warning look towards his compatriot. “Because of your age, we would like to lessen your load a bit so you can focus on learning to finer aspects of owning a business.”

Even to Bilbo’s young ears, that didn’t sound right. “What do you want to do?”

“We wish to purchase the caravan’s goods from you and sell them for you,” he continued. “We think the dwarves of Ered Luin would respond to us better than to a youngling like you. We would like to keep this arrangement with you going forward until you are of age. We think our people would be more comfortable dealing with us as well. We both win in this scenario.”

Bilbo squinted. Did they believe his intelligence so low as not to catch the trap they were trying to set for him in their words? If they hoped he would agree without thinking through the semantics too much, they were about to be disappointed. No one could overthink something like Bilbo could.

First of all, that they referred to their own people as ‘dwarves’ and not ‘dwarrow’ was suspicious in and of itself. In addition, they wanted him to agree to sell his entire stock directly from him and not the dwarrow merchants hired to man his stalls _and_ hold that as a binding agreement until he was of age. If he had to guess, he’d say they meant of dwarven age, not that of a hobbit’s adulthood. Likely, they’d attempt to buy his merchandise from him at a low cost and turn around to sell it to their people at a high cost, or worse, put stipulations on who could and who could not buy it.

Such power was too much for any ruler to hold over their people, especially considering that these were city lords, not kings.

Taking a breath, he decided he needed to ask one more question to decipher whether or not he truly was overthinking it. “You’ve seen the records of what I have brought; how much would you buy it from me for?”

Lord Bragn smiled a bit too widely. “One hundred silver coins. That's a lot of money for a young man like you. Doesn’t that sound grand? That would be enough for you to buy a house!” he exclaimed. 

Caught between disgust and disappointment, Bilbo sighed. Did they think he'd never held that sum before? The caravan had cost far more than a hundred silver coins. They must believe he was daft. “If you have seen the records, then you know that the worth my caravan brought approaches two hundred silver coins. Who did you think bought the merchandise?” he held up two of his fingers to indicate. 

His smile fell. “The food has gone bad on the journey. We had it checked.”

“The food is fermented, dried, or canned; we brought nothing fresh.”

The city lord scowled deeply. “You cannot know the worth of what you procured. You were overcharged because you are young and in over your head. Just because you paid too much does not mean we will!”

Smiling tightly, Bilbo felt ancient as he addressed these city lords. One could throw a stone in any direction and hit a lord such as they: corrupt, greedy, and arrogant. “I decline your offer. I will be selling directly to the _dwarrow_ of Ered Luin. Thank you for your kindness in any case,” he said, conscious of Mintear jotting down their conversation.

Lord Terrence's eyes frosted over. “Mintear, you may leave.”

Her head jerked up and she stared with wide eyes at the dwarf, and then swung her deep gaze to Bilbo. “My lord, you cannot have a private audience with—”

_ “Leave,” _Terrence commanded. 

Mintear did not move for a long minute. When she finally stood, she took more time than she probably needed to gather her writing tools. Bilbo noticed her eyes kept flicking towards from him to the door. She was telling him to leave. When she met his gaze fully as she passed, her eyes were wide and the look she gave him was meaningful. 

“I have nothing more to say to you, so I take my leave,” he said, hating his high-pitched voice, or his loud breathing. The anxiety was coming back, and he once again felt alien in his own skin; no longer the ancient hobbit he'd felt minutes before. 

“Do not think you are above our orders, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. Child or not, you are a guest in our city and you _ will _bend to us. Do not forget what is on the line for you.” Bargn snarled. 

“Bargn!” the other dwarf stood. 

Bilbo’s smile was brittle. “You’ve made yourself clear. I will act accordingly.”

Terrence’s face darkened and if looks could kill, Bargn would have been returned to stone by the sun’s set that night. Bilbo did not wait for their next actions. He turned and walked quickly from the room. 

Looking around, he remembered turning right to enter the room, so he turned left after he exited it. Stone walls loomed like the mountains they were carved into over his head. His steps, first measured and calm, became faster, sounding like claps of thunder as he ran down the hall. His breathing was coming faster now. Which way had they turned at this crossroads? Right? Left? He went straight. The farther he went the stranger the corridors looked to him. Everything was dark, even the lanterns on the walls couldn’t seem to breach the thick blackness that hung over the space in this part of the mountain. He wondered if he called for his mother if she would be able to hear him where the light could not touch him. Could Yavanna still sense him? 

Bilbo kept running. But as he ran, he found himself running from things in the darkness he could remember from the Before. It was right behind him. The creature he’d almost become at the end of his life. He could hear the scratching on the walls and the hoarse coughing that had given it its name. 

Gollum was following him. It was looking for something. What was it looking for? Bilbo couldn’t remember! Sometimes when he glanced over his shoulder at it, he could see only it’s dead grey eyes, or sometimes its whole body, crouched on four spindly legs as it gave chase. Other times, it was an old hobbit with white hair and a grey waistcoat, eyes wild and teeth bared at him. A scream tore from him when he realized what he was looking at. It was Bilbo Baggins from the Before at the end of his life. It was _him! _

When he turned around again, he ran into a stone wall that should not have been there. His head stung and ached at the same time. Putting a hand to his forehead, he could feel the stick heat as he drew away. Bilbo looked up at the wall, trying to run past it, but he couldn’t.

“It’s a dead-end,” he breathed, fear climbing his throat as he heard Gollum’s footsteps approach him. 

“That’s right, precious, a dead-end for the filthy, thieving Bagginses,” he purred. 

Bilbo turned to face the glowing grey eyes and pressed himself into the wall. “I don’t even know you yet! I haven’t done anything to you!” he yelled at it. 

“You _stole _it from us! You tricksed us!” it wailed, launching itself at him. 

Bilbo screamed and ducked. Gollum never hit him. When he looked up again, a terrifying Bilbo with large, frightening eyes stared at him. The darkness had touched Bilbo in the Before, he realized with dread. 

_ Not just witnessing darkness! I will become a _ creature _ of darkness! _

With a blur of movement, the darkness was upon him, screaming as it gripped his shoulders. “It’s mine!” he snarled, shaking Bilbo so hard his head hit the rocks at his back again. 

Bilbo screamed loudly. His own mind was targeting him, attacking him! But how was it touching him?

“You aren’t real!” he cried, trying to wriggle from the old hobbit’s hold. “Not yet!”

“You will be! This is what you’ll become! And this time, _ you won’t let the Ring go. _”

Bilbo kicked out, fighting against this strange magic that let his memories hurt him while he was awake. “Let go!” he yelled. 

“Hobbit, stop! Mintear, grab his legs!” a harsh voice whispered urgently. “We’re not trying to hurt you, you’re lost and in danger!” he hissed. 

“Nori?” he asked, voice shaking as he recognized the voice. He never knew he could cry in relief. 

He stopped kicking and clutched at the other dwarf, shuddering hard. 

“You said you didn’t know him,” the scribe hissed. 

“I don’t!” Nori sounded perplexed and defensive at the same time. 

Bilbo couldn’t be bothered to defend the thief’s honour right at that moment.

“That’s not important right now. I have to get him back to Lady Dís. The city lords are moving; I need to report and you know where you need to be.”

Bilbo groaned audibly as his head felt as though they were pounding nails through his skull. “Hurts,” he admitted. 

“You are not what I expected,” said Nori gruffly, holding him more gently. 

_ I’m not what I expected either, _he wished to respond, but couldn’t find the strength. 

A soft hand brushed over his forehead. “He’s getting a fever and there’s blood. We should get him to a healer.”

“No healer,” he choked out. “I need my-my—” Something had happened. Something unnatural. He was being targeted, and whatever strange magick was being used on him right now was causing him to remember things before he was supposed to. These were not just memories, but waking dreams, and Bilbo didn't know the first thing on how to stop them.

“Your mother will be there too,” Mintear promised, intuiting what he'd been trying to say. “Just rest and forget this ever happened.”

“Momma,” he finally managed to get out, but the pain was like a brick weighing him down in a deep body of water. He slipped out of consciousness.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, the line of Durin confirms that there is indeed more to Bilbo Baggins of the Shire than meets the eye.


	18. In Which there is only Red and White and Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The line of Durin confirms that there is indeed more to Bilbo Baggins of the Shire than meets the eye.

Everything was red and white and black. His dream began in a blizzard, cold seeping deep into his bones and slowing his lungs. He could see memories passing by him as though pages were being turned. All red and white and black. Red fire. A white orc on a white warg. Black night. And the page turned and then there was blood staining the freshly fallen blanket of snow, and then black hair fanned out around him. And the page turned again. And again. And again. And nothing was green and blue and brown, the colours of life, but only of death and cold and solitude. The Before swept through him like the strong gales of Rohan’s planes leaving behind confusion and pain in their wake. 

Back and forth the pages turned, faster, faster, _ faster, _until they stopped. Bilbo’s heart seemed to mirror the action. Everything inside of him turned to ice as he looked into something blue. Blue, finally blue! Blue eyes in a pale white face, black hair splayed in the white snow, and blood! The blood was everywhere. 

His mouth opened to cry out for him, for _ his _dwarf, but no sound followed. White noise filled the air as those blue eyes faded to grey; the life that had coloured them vibrantly before draining from those brilliant orbs. 

Bilbo’s body spasmed and his head hit something hard. He could distantly hear cries of alarm, but could not tell where they were coming from. His body collapsed in the snow. Bilbo was numb to the cold now. He stared at the page and did not try to breathe. 

_ I hate snow, _he whispered inside his head. 

The blizzard slowed to a crawl and every flake seemed to drop in slow motion. Bilbo’s mind felt like an empty vacuum. He closed his eyes, unable to bear looking at the fallen king any longer. When he opened them again, he gasped, wondering if what he was seeing was real. The face looked so like the one in the image that had just burned itself onto his retinas. The only difference being that it was not etched in pain or sorrow or the lines of fear and time.

Dark, troubled brows were furrowed low over those bright blue eyes. Bilbo rejoiced in their colour, murmuring out its name happily. His beard was short and as dark as his long hair. He looked angry. Bilbo wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or cry at how well known it seemed to his tired soul. The dwarf’s name was on the tip of his tongue. 

_ Familiar, so, so familiar. I spoke with him only last night, _ Bilbo thought, frustrated. His dwarf’s name was on the tip of his tongue. 

Abruptly, his thoughts were interrupted by a worried face pushing away the blue-eyed one. _ K__íli, _ he remembered. The dark tangle of hair and the breath that fanned over his face my his eyelids flutter. 

“Kíli, don’t crowd him; something’s wrong.” His dwarf admonished, gentle voice at odds with his furious expression. 

Kíli’s face backed away until Bilbo could focus properly on it. “Sorry, Uncle. Sorry, Bilbo.”

Where was his mother? He felt small and vulnerable and he needed her to be there so he wouldn’t feel that way anymore! 

“Your momma will be here soon; Dís will make sure of that.” Said his scowling uncle-dwarf.

Had he called for her aloud? He hadn’t noticed. 

Another boy made his presence known, leaning over to look into Bilbo’s face. He looked worried. “We’re taking you to Óin now, so don’t worry,” he tried to comfort. “He’ll fix whatever’s wrong.” 

Fíli had blond hair and laughing grey eyes that somehow looked more serious than his younger brother’s, but not quite so as his Uncle’s. For the first time he realized that he was being carried. It was hard to tell where his body was in space. It distressed him greatly, so he made a noise of discomfort. 

“Hush, little hobbit kit,” Thorin murmured, walking faster. The sway of his gate sent his braids swinging over Bilbo’s face. He stared at them blankly, his soul suddenly feeling exhausted. He needed his mother. “Fíli, Kíli go back to your quarters.”

Their protests were immediate. 

“No arguments!” his dwarf yelled. “I don’t want Bilbo to be overwhelmed. His eyes are too glassy as it is. Beyond that, I don’t want either of you to get sick if he’s ill.”

The boys were not about to give up so easily. They were all getting louder, talking over each other, half in Westron and half in Khuzdul. Bilbo didn’t even try to understand the rapid-fire squabble. All he knew was that it _was_ overwhelming. Without conscious thought, he reached up and grabbed hold of the braid that began as one and split off into two, taking hold of the bead on one of the ends. He let his arm drop so the weight of it pulled against the braid. Bilbo didn’t notice the silence that had taken hold of the hallway. His eyes slipped closed and a small smile settle across his face, even as his brow remained troubled. 

“Not a word,” his dwarf growled. 

There was no response, but when Bilbo opened his eyes again, he saw them nodding with wide eyes at their Uncle.

Bilbo’s skull ached and he felt faint from all the new information trying to break through into his mind. When they began to climb a narrow staircase, he must have made some sound of distress because the boy’s, who had completely ignored their Uncle’s instruction to leave, hushed him gently. 

“Uncle would never drop you, Bilbo!” the blond boy smiled at him cheerfully, but there was still worry in the lines of his face. 

Bilbo knew it was the blond boy because he peeking over his dwarf’s shoulder to look at the adolescents following behind them. 

“Fíli’s right, but even if Uncle Thorin _ did _fall, we’re right behind him to catch you both!”

Thorin growled at them both, but it was playful. “I would squash you,” he threatened half-heartedly. “Now if you’re not going to leave as you’re told, stop distracting me. It’s slowing me down.”

_ Thorin, _Bilbo mused, and his memory of the previous evening came back to him with more clarity. Fondly, Bilbo petted Thorin’s short beard. “You’re prickly,” he let him know. He wondered if the double entendre would be lost on them. 

“It’s the beard.” Fíli shrugged. “He keeps it short. When my beard comes in, I’m going to grow it down to my—”

“Fíli.”

“Waist,” the blond finished with a wicked grin. 

Bilbo wasn’t sure why Kíli was snickering, so he just let his head fall down onto Thorin’s shoulder, hoping they’d keep talking so he wouldn’t think about the memories bubbling up inside of him. It was surprisingly difficult not to think of something. 

When they finally made to the top of the stairs, Thorin pressed his back to the wall to make room. “Kíli, go tell Óin we’re on our way.”

Kíli darted past him with no argument this time. Bilbo watched him go, a knot forming in his throat.

_ Apples, green, red, yellow, autumn, feast, hobbits, _Bilbo tried to focus on anything but the memory beating a rhythm against the inside of his skull. His thoughts grew more urgent as he tried harder.

Then his thoughts were out loud, too. “Shire, Smail, study, kitchen, pantry, wolves, winter, fell!” he shook his head hard, as though he could shake the memory that was about to breakthrough. He let out a sob as the image made itself known to him. 

He could hear Thorin and Fíli panicking, but all he could see was Kíli, arms crossed over his chest on the stretcher. He was older, with a short brown beard like his Uncle’s but his bright brown eyes were closed, never to be opened again. His skin was the colour of ash and his hands did not so much grip the sword they held, but instead lay limply over the handle as though they had been pressed into place there. The image was stained with the knowledge that he would never smile again. Bilbo couldn't breathe. It felt as though he was being strangled. 

“Bilbo?” he heard his mother gasp, but he couldn’t see anything but his friend lying dead on the stretcher, ready to be returned to stone. “Oh, my little songbird, please breathe for me.” She begged breathlessly. 

He was pulled from Thorin’s arms and into his mother's. He tried to search out her face but he couldn’t see anything beyond the horrible memory.

“He was brought to us in haste. He has been calling for you,” said Thorin.

“What did he call me?” his mother demanded, voice calm and controlled. 

Bilbo lay limply in her arms until he was set to lay flat on a bed. She tilted his head up and opened his mouth with her fingers to make sure his airway was open. 

Thorin was confused. “What?”

“_Mother _ or _ momma_, what did he call me?”

“He said _ ‘momma’_, I think. Fíli?”

“Yes, that’s right,” the blond affirmed. “But why does that matter? What’s wrong with him?” he asked anxiously, shifting closer to gaze into Bilbo’s unfocused eyes.

“He’ll be well with some rest and tea and sunlight,” she comforted them. “Thank you for bringing him to safety. I should never have allowed him to go in alone.” Belladonna gritted her teeth at her own failure. How could she forget how young and fragile Bilbo was? For all his astounding inexplicabilities, he was still only a faunt. 

“Bel, you need rest yourself! Please let Óin take care of you both.” Dís begged, coming to kneel beside her. 

Belladonna shook her head. “No healer can cure what ails him.”

“Please, tell us what’s wrong with him,” she requested, wrapping a supporting arm around her shoulders. 

“I would ask _nicely _that you allow the healer to check him over anyways. He has hit his head at least once,” Thorin growled. “We are very protective of kits and this one is small.”

The mother’s eyes widened and she jumped forwards to run gentle fingers through her faunt’s hair, examining him carefully. When she pulled her hand away, she saw the blood. Giving a jerky nod, she said, “I would appreciate that. But what does his size have to do with anything?” she murmured, half to distract herself and half because she was worried about some sort of cultural difference between dwarf medicine and hobbit medicine. 

“The smaller the kit, the cuter they be.” Fíli educated her, accent thickening with worry and pride at the same time. “Small and vulnerable things need protectin’, and we dwarrow are good at takin’ care of our small things.”

Belladonna laughed softly, still propping his mouth open with one hand. “Then I will not object. My thanks, Thorin and Fíli.” She turned to look at the woman next to her. “My thanks, Dís.”

The dwarrowdame smiled and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “You are small as well. Let me take care of you.”

Belladonna’s heart fluttered in her chest, but she shook her head. “I need to take care of Bilbo.”

“And when Óin comes?”

“Then I will let you take care of me,” she conceded. 

Dís smiled in relief, allowing Belladonna to give her attention back to her child. 

Belladonna felt like throwing up. Her own injuries pained her, but not nearly so much as seeing her son’s shiny forehead and glassy eyes did. She remembered when the last time this happened was. It was stark in her mind. The way he had made to follow her inside for dinner but had stopped, face etched in horror. Then he’d simply crumpled. 

“Where was he found?” she inquired, speaking quietly as she alternated running her free hand through his curls and using her long sleeve to dab the sweat from his brow.

“Deep in the tunnels,” Thorin informed her. “Our…friend followed him. At first, they thought he’d just been running in fear, but it soon became apparent that the paths he took were very deliberate. If he had turned any other way, he would have encountered danger of some kind. Mahal was watching over him this day.”

Belladonna nodded, not looking startled in the least, only thankful.

“This news does not surprise you,” the blacksmith squinted suspiciously. “Why?”

Belladonna did not answer. After a moment, as Bilbo stirred slightly, she leaned over his face and let her hair curtain them for a moment. “Hello, songbird,” she murmured with a smile in her voice. She hoped to coax him back with it. “Can you see me yet?”

“Snowy,” he rasped, the sound wet from having her fingers there. 

“I see. The storm will pass, don’t you worry. I’m right here, and we are warm and safe inside a mountain. Can you take some deep breaths with me?” she demonstrated what she wanted him to do. 

Bilbo copied her. Having the chilly air fill his lungs made him feel a bit better, even if his vision was foggy. He pushed at her fingers with his tongue until she withdrew them. Managing to focus, he stared into her hazel eyes and smiled tiredly. 

“There you are,” she kissed his forehead. “You’ve given us quite the scare.”

He tangled his hands into her hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

The moment was shattered when the door burst open with no preamble. Both hobbits on the bed reacted instantly. Belladonna came up in a crouch over her son, the hidden blade she kept on her person in hand. Bilbo had frozen in terror. 

Neither response was lost to any in the room, though especially so for the adults.

“Kíli, you cannot just barge into rooms like that; you’ll traumatize the patient!” the white-haired healer scolded. 

The boy in question gulped, wide-eyes as Belladonna returned the small dagger to its scabbard. Climbing down so she was sitting next to her son again, she soothed him with her hands on his face and his on her wrists to keep him here. She sang softly under her breath, ignoring everything else but Bilbo. Óin raised his brows meaningfully at the elder Durins. They were both in agreement. What had transpired that day was more than enough evidence to confirm that there was something _other _about their guests. It was time to find out what.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, the line of Durin find out their hobbits are basically hobbit royalty, and Bilbo permits Belladonna to divulge his secret.


	19. In Which Much is Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The line of Durin find out their hobbits are basically hobbit royalty, and Bilbo permits Belladonna to divulge his secret.

Kíli felt horrible. That much was clear to Belladonna as she petted her child’s stricken face, still singing the songs he’d taught her. 

“I’m sorry, Lady Belladonna,” said Kíli. “I’m sorry, Bilbo.”

Belladonna smiled gently at the boy. “That’s alright, Kíli. I also forget how fragile Bilbo can be. He’s so mature all the time that I admit I forget he’s only twelve.” Her smile grew sad and fond at the same time as she looked back into the frozen face of her child. “He never acted much like a child. By the time he was ten years of age he was working with his grandfather to learn politics and diplomacy. Now, he’s the most illustrious merchant of the Shire.”

Thorin’s eyebrows raised. “Is his grandfather a politician or lord?”

“Of sorts,” answered she, tipping her head to the side in thought. “He is the Thain.”

Dís nodded. “Yes, I knew that before. In his letter, he said he was ‘Heir to the Chair of the Thain’. What exactly is a Thain?”

Fíli inched closer to the two on the bed to get a better look at Bilbo. “Yes, I want to know too.”

Bilbo, for his part, was coming back to his senses under his mother's ministrations, aware enough of the conversation to blush, but not enough to stop it from progressing. 

“He is the owner of the Shire. He solves problems and delegates hobbits as a whole when large scale progress needs to be made at any given time. The Thain also handles the rangers that protect our boarders.” She explained, though with considerably less enthusiasm now that they weren’t talking about Bilbo.

Kíli’s eyes went wide. “He is the king of the Shire?”

“Bilbo is a prince?” Fíli asked at the same time. 

That was enough to draw Bilbo back enough to choke on his own laughter as he guffawed. “A prince? I am no prince. We don’t have those in the Shire.”

“We have them here,” the brunet assured him. “And Fí and I want a playmate so _ please _say you’re a prince!”

Thorin shot his youngest nephew a glare. He knew well and good he wasn’t restricted on who he could acquaint himself with based on title, especially now that they no longer claimed to be of the line of Durin. Kíli was just trying to box the young hobbit into a corner. 

Bilbo did not look impressed. “It’s not as though you’re claiming to be princes right now, so what does it matter what my title is or not?” he demanded. “Regardless of that, I’d still be your friend.”

Fíli’s eyes grew huge and swept over to his Uncle. Thorin shook his head slightly to keep the inquisitive boy from questioning Bilbo at the moment. “Well,” the blond picked up his brother’s train of thought easily. “You wouldn’t want to leave us to our own devices; we get into terrible mischief, isn’t that right, Uncle?”

Thorin’s scowl darkened. 

Bilbo squinted at them and pulled the blanket higher over his face so only his suspicious eyes remained visible. “And you all thought _ I _ was blackmailing _you. _”

In truth—though, Thorin would never admit it aloud—he had thought Bilbo was blackmailing them because of his guard forever being up due to his nephews' antics. 

“Why _did _you think that?” the hobbit mother asked, chuckling. “Bilbo is incapable of subterfuge.”

Offended, Bilbo answered blandly. “Kings are always suspicious. Especially this one; it had nothing to do with me.” He grumbled, turning away from them on the bed, pouting. 

Belladonna gasped and swivelled. “You’re a king?” she demanded, already bowing to both him and Dís.

"In exile," the faunt tacked on.

Thorin sent a meaningful look to his sister before addressing Belladonna. “You believe him quite readily.”

Belladonna snorted. “The day my son is wrong about these sorts of things is the day I shave my feet,” she declared. Then she glared at the back of Bilbo’s head. “Though a little warning would have been nice!”

It appeared neither hobbit was capable of subtly.

Bilbo turned over. “I didn’t know much before you did,” he tapped his head to indicate. The gesture was lost on no one save Kíli. 

Óin observed the conversation from the far side of the room, a thoughtful look on his face. Up to this point, he had not interrupted. But, if he let this go any further, he’d never get his examination done. “Come now, Princess Belladonna. Out of the way so I can check him over.” 

Belladonna obliged him while insisting she was just _ ‘Belladonna and nothing more’._ She moved so her back was against the stone wall by Bilbo’s head. This way, she could carefully watch over what the healer was doing and be near enough to her child to comfort him should he have another episode. The examination room was relatively small so they were crowded in closely together. A few of the walls had been pasted over with a wash so they were white to break up the isolating stone that the room was carved from.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Óin requested, taking hold of Bilbo’s wrist to take a pulse. 

Bilbo swallowed and glanced up at his mother. 

She raised a challenging brow. “I’d like to know too.”

Sighing, he relaxed further into the mattress. “I hit my head, twice, I think.”

“Hmm,” the healer responded noncommittally. “Anything else?”

Bilbo looked at the divets in the stone wall to his right, “and I was trying to find my way back to my mother. I got lost.”

Thorin spoke this time. “What led you to take the paths you did? Did you remember going on them before?”

How could Bilbo answer that? It was not as though he could say he’d been chased by creatures that came out of his memories from his previous incarnation. Belladonna leaned down and pressed a kiss to his furrowed forehead. 

“I don't have an answer for you,” he told his dwarf. 

Fíli backed away from the bed to make room for his mother. The movement had him standing in front of the pasted white wall. Bilbo’s heart slammed in his chest. Because even when he knew he was remembering something, not seeing it, it looked so real! Fíli, suspended by the horrifying pale orc, then impaled by it’s glinting sword. Fíli falling, falling, falling, and hitting the ground. The sound he made when he hit the snow covered stone floor could have been made by a dropped sack of ordinary items. Bilbo never again heard that sound in the Before without flinching. All the more because what the pale orc had dropped was anything but an ordinary item. It had been a brave, selfless prince. And his body had landed right in front of his stricken brother. 

A scream bubbled up in his throat as he watched it happen, not noticing he was now crouched, pressed up against the corner of the bed. When the memory faded from his vision and his eyes alighted on the young, beardless Fíli, so alive and confused, he bolted.

Faster than anyone could stop him, Bilbo sprang from his position and flew across the room to it’s adjoining closet. He slammed the slatted door behind him. There was a moment of shocked silence. Bilbo hunkered down low and gripped his aching head, trying to rid himself of the image. He yanked his hair as though if he could pull it out, then the memories would come out with it. 

Belladonna was the first one there. She sat against the door with a heavy sigh. The act prevented anyone from trying to open it and also gave her the proximity she knew he needed. Thorin glared at her with incredulity. She just held up a hand for patience and quiet and looked pointedly at the door. The hobbit mother wanted to laugh when all four faces that belonged to the line of Durin set in a stubborn scowl. Almost in tandem, they dropped to the floor facing her and the closet. It seemed the Shirelings wouldn’t get their privacy at the moment. Óin, however, quietly excused himself. These sorts of things were family matters, after all.

“Bilbo, why are you in the closet?” she asked in a curious voice that belied none of her apprehension or worry. 

There was a small hiccup. “I’m sorry,” she heard him murmur, whisper-soft. 

“You don’t need to be sorry,” the mother responded. 

“Okay.”

The dwarrow waited for her to say something more, but Belladonna ignored them all and closed her eyes. She sat there patiently, taking in the tiny sounds of grief he could not hide. In return, she breathed deeply, letting him hear her. 

Fíli and Kíli were both worrying their bottom lips with worry. They leaned heavily against each other, eyes fixed and Belladonna and the door. Thorin’s scowl darkened in challenge as he moved to sit next to her against the jam of the closet doorway so he could hear Bilbo too. Dís just scooted closer and put a hesitant hand on Belladonna’s in support. The hobbit maid couldn’t help but smile. 

“Momma?” the faunt called through the door, so quiet that Belladonna wasn’t sure Thorin could hear him without hobbit ears.

“Yes, songbird?”

“Is everyone still there?” he whispered worriedly. “Did they see?”

“Yes, Bilbo.”

“Oh,” he responded on a shuddering breath. He sniffed loudly and it sounded like he was wiping his nose on his handkerchief as he spoke. “I’m being terribly rude.”

Belladonna tilted her head. “That’s true.”

Another sniffle. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” repeated Belladonna.

“Okay.”

Belladonna put her ear against the door. “Bilbo?”

A sniffle. 

She continued on anyway. “Can I tell them a little bit about you?”

A beat of silence before his answer came right next to her ear. “Yes.”

Bilbo was watching them through the door, she knew. She did not tell that to the other’s, though. He wanted to see their honest reactions when they thought he wasn’t looking. 

Kíli was the first to speak up from the Durins. “What’s wrong with Bilbo?”

“We would not have you keep it a secret from us, Bel.” Dís squeezed her hand. 

“Since he’s given his permission, I shall.”

“Start from the beginning,” ordered Thorin.

Belladonna nodded, feeling tired and achy due to her injuries. Perhaps the stress was a small part of that was well. “Very well. Bilbo was born twelve years ago, so by hobbit standards, he is a young adolescent.” Then she smiled. “He did not cry when he was born, just looked thoughtfully disgruntled.”

“So like he does now?” Kíli piped up, not meaning any harm.

Her smile grew into a grin. “It’s his signature expression. He always makes that face because he is always thoughtfully disgruntled.”

Thorin’s cheek may have lifted, but it was hard for Belladonna to tell. 

So she continued, “most children change in personality between being an infant and a faunt of twelve. Bilbo never did. He was always as he is now. He was the most curious thing. I never heard one word out of him until he had enough teeth to utter a fully articulated sentence to me. He told me he’d just had a bit of growing to do,” she laughed softly, feeling nostalgic and wishing she could hold her son right now. 

Dís smiled encouragingly, coming to sit on the other door jam. “Hobbit kits are not usually so articulate?”

“Far from it, actually. Hobbits are not the most...learned of creatures. They typically exist in a very simple way. Their happiness does not come from knowledge or glory like other races. Instead, they find joy in their families and their gardens.”

“They?” grunted Thorin. “Are you not a hobbit yourself, Lady Belladonna?”

_ “We,” _she corrected herself, humming. 

“And when he was looking at me just now…” Fíli looked uncomfortable. “Was that a battle terror?”

Belladonna perked up a bit, eager for any morsel of information that could pertain to her son’s oddities. “What is a battle terror?”

“A battle terror is like a waking nightmare. To have one is to relive your battles.” Thorin supplied.

She thought about it. “Hmmm, yes, I suppose Bilbo is having a battle terror then. That is what I will call them for you then since it’s a familiar term to you. To my knowledge, he’s only had one to this degree before.” Then she turned her head again so her ear was against the door. “How are we feeling about this conversation, Bilbo?”

“No descriptions, please no details,” he whispered. 

“Alright, songbird,” she nodded. Then she turned back to her audience. “Last autumn, he collapsed with a battle terror. About a terrible winter.”

Thorin made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded compassionate. “One from his early childhood then? That would explain why he’s such a serious child.”

“No, he’s had very mild winters.”

Dís sucked in a breath, remembering their conversation during the feast. “The winter that would come.”

Thorin froze and stared at his sister. 

“No more,” Bilbo whispered right next to where her ear was.

Belladonna understood. She no more wanted to talk about those months than Bilbo wanted to hear it rehashed in front of relative strangers. “Are you ready to come out now?” queried Belladonna, keeping her tone light and cheerful, if a bit subdued. 

Another beat of silence. “Okay.”

So Belladonna moved away from the door, both elder Durins following her example. Bilbo pushed it open from the inside. When he crawled out, he looked sheepish. He made to stand but was suddenly clobbered by two young dwarrow. Yelping in surprise, he allowed them to pull him to his feet and brush him off before he could gather his wits about him. 

“So you saw something about me,” Fíli looked a bit troubled. Then he looked at his brother and shrugged. “Well, come on. We know just what will make you feel better.”

Kíli groaned. “Please say you’re talking about food, brother.”

“What else?”

Throwing his head back, Kíli thrust a fist in the air. “Then I approve!”

Belladonna laughed at them. “Bilbo needs rest! He’s already gallivanted about enough today. You may bring back food to eat with him, but he’ll be resting for the foreseeable future.” She shooed the protesting boy’s with her hand as she led Bilbo over to sit on the bed.

“Bilbo?” the voice surprisingly came from Thorin. The blacksmith was taking advantage of the bickering trio’s distraction to get the young hobbit’s attention.

“Yes, Mister Thorin?”

“What was your battle terror about when you were lost? You had one then, didn’t you?”

_ Blue, blue eyes that faded to grey… _

Bilbo felt overwhelmed. “What?”

“The seeing ability you possess,” he prompted, not attuned to the boy’s emotions yet. “What will happen that had you so distraught?”

And the little being looked so mournful and lost at that moment that Thorin almost wished he hadn’t asked the question. 

“I’m not looking forwards, Mister Thorin; I’m looking _ back. _”

Thorin called on all his years of guarding his expression to keep his scowl from giving way to astonishment. “They are memories?” 

Then the hobbit kit huffed, looking annoyed. “I do not expect you to remember because it hasn’t happened yet and won’t if I have anything to do about it. I don’t expect you to believe me either, you prickly, suspicious dwarf.”

“Bilbo!” his mother scolded, leaving her argument for the sake of deeply ingrained propriety that she rarely had to remind her son of. “Watch how you speak; he is a King, but more importantly, a business partner!”

“But I know this one, mother. Or rather, I will know him. And he likes me. Sometimes.” He frowned, trying to sort through the memories. “Until he doesn’t. But he liked me again in the end. Cursed gold.”

All the occupants of the room stopped what they were doing to watch the amusing series of expressions transforming Bilbo’s face. The dark scowl he ended with could have given Thorin’s a run for his money. 

“What are you talking about?” the King-in Exile demanded.

Agitated, Bilbo explained. “I don’t know yet. I’m still sifting through everything new. It’s hard to find things without a directory. If only my mind was like an encyclopedia. That would be ever so useful—!” he gasped loudly, and it startled everyone in the room. 

Bilbo shot to his feet, wringing his hands and turning this way then that. Then his glare fixed on Thorin. The powerful dwarf had never been on the receiving end of such righteous fury from a child before, so his mask slipped, giving way to his true expression. When the little boy’s eyes brimmed with large tears, Thorin stepped back, not knowing what to do. Then dismay clouded Bilbo’s small features, but ultimately lost the battle to indignation!

“Oh, that is _it! _” he shouted, stomping towards the startled dwarf. “I’m not talking to you right now! Out, out, out!” he yelled. 

Bilbo vehemently shooed and shoved the man in time with his command until he was out of the room. Then, the faunt slammed the door in his face. “I would tell you to think about what you’ve done, but you don’t remember! Thick-headed, stubborn, prideful, suspicious, prickly, brutish—” he stopped muttering when he remembered there were other people in the room with him. 

He looked up to see them all staring at him in shock. 

This time Fíli was the one to break the silence. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he whispered reverently.

His brother agreed. “I’m keeping it.”

Fíli glared. “_ We’re _keeping it.”

“Excuse me, but no one can have Bilbo, he’d already mine.” Belladonna huffed. 

Dís made an amused sound, wrapping an arm around her waist. “I think Thorin will have something to say about that in the future.”

Belladonna could only snort. “_I _was not the one sent away for something unimaginable I will do in the future. I reckon Bilbo will be the one to decide who he belongs to.”

“Myself, actually,” grumbled the boy, getting used to the fussing and clustering of the two brother’s surrounding him. 

Outside the door, Thorin was still frozen, face only an inch away from the rough wood. 

“Want to tell me what just happened?” Dwalin requested. 

“When I know, you will too.”

His bodyguard snorted. “If ye don’t already know, then I guess I’ll be waitin’ a while.”

Thorin was sure that if he wasn’t so confused, his glare would have had some heat in it.

Óin raised bushy eyebrows. “I'm not even going to comment.”

“You seem to know what's good for you,” the blacksmith retorted. 

Dwalin grinned. “He's a healer, isn't he?”

Neither man laughed.

“That was terrible, Dwalin.” Thorin assured him.

“Aye, perhaps it's best ye never speak again,” agreed the healer in question. 

“I can't bring myself to be offended when a deaf dwarf and a dwarf that wouldn't know a joke with it was a boulder I threw at him can't understand my good humour.”

Thorin only scowled in response, turning to glare at the closed door he'd just been pushed out of. It seemed that he didn't understand many things, least of all being Dwalin's terrible puns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, the hobbits move into the royal quarters to recover and Thorin finally begins to get an inkling about what it is Bilbo is holding against him.


	20. In Which Thorin Tries to Make Amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Bilbo and Belladonna are recovering from their traumatic injuries, Bilbo ignores his One. Thorin knows something has to give, so he approached Bilbo again with the hopes of mending whatever had broken between them.

The coming days passed in a blur of speed. Bilbo and Belladonna recovered in the infirmary, and the line of Durin tried to go about their business as normally as possible. That is, as best as they could. With Thorin’s One injured and ignoring him, and Dís’ One’s attacker at large, it wasn’t easy for either of them to stray from their sides. 

Fíli and Kíli had no such reservations. They came and went as they pleased, Outright skipping lessons if it conflicted with their desire to see the two hobbits. Apparently, the Shirelings had much to speak of.

Bilbo had become more open as of late. Excitedly telling the young dwarrow all about what he remembered of his time with the elves and his nephew’s friends, Pippin and Merry. The first reticent dwarves gradually became excited about the elven folk tales and songs in spite of their uncle’s obvious hatred for them. Bilbo had learned fairly quickly that by singing in Sindarin or Quenya, Thorin would make himself scarce. The hobbit had not forgiven him about whatever had caused the blacksmith to so lose favor again, and no one had been able to make him say a word about it. 

Óín had let them know that under no uncertain terms were they to cause the young faunt stress. He was unsure of what damage these memories might have on his mind and warned them to be cautious. At first, Belladonna had not thought much of it. Since she knew the most about her son and his behaviours, she did not take the advice to heart. Her complacency was soon gained through experience. When Bilbo discovered the nature and cause of his mother’s injuries, he had been sent into a seizure. 

Belladonna had been waiting for her son in front of the stairs by the small window when she had been brutally attacked. Her assailant did not give her even a moment to assess whether he were friend or foe before he advanced and threw her down the stairs. She had toppled feet over head before managing to halt her descent. It was a miracle she hadn’t fallen off the stairs in the first place. In the end, she’d been found unconscious by Dís and Thorin who had been racing up the stairs after receiving more intell from their informant. Thankfully, she was able to rouse quickly. There were no protests thr two dwarves could have made that could have stopped her from climbing back up those stairs to find her child.

Bilbo’s recovery had slowed after that. Óín worried that his head injuries were the cause of the listless and erratic behaviour he’d been exhibiting, but no one could really say one way or the other. It wasn’t until the fifth day that he showed signs of his old self. Fíli and Kíli made most interesting conversation partners, and they found that they all got along rather well. Poor Thorin was still being ignored, and Dís was hard-pressed to leave her One’s side. 

For his part, Thorin was miserable. He couldn’t sleep, drinking held no appeal, and guilt and worry ate him from the inside out. What could he have done to offend the hobbit so? Such a prim and proper creature would not react so vehemently if it were something of no consequence, right? But Bilbo would not explain anything to him or anyone else. Whenever he tried to get close, the little kit would start singing those blasted elven songs and had even given his nephew a taste for the music as revenge for whatever Thorin had done. 

“Have you tried talking to him?” his sister raised a brow. 

Thorin would not even deign to respond. 

“Maybe you should bring him a gift or a toy.”

“For Bilbo?” he scoffed. “The boy who is really an ancient hobbit? He might find it offensive.”

Dís shook her head thoughtfully. “I don’t know about that. He’s still childlike in many ways. Just look at how he’s acting towards you.”

Thorin couldn’t deny that it _ was _ rather petty.

“He and Belladonna are moving to our quarters today. Why don’t you go help Bilbo with the transition? I’ll keep my sons out from underfoot.”

Bilbo did not start singing elvish songs at the sight of him. He just stared, mouth pinched in a fine line from where he sat on the bed, hands folding primly in his lap, reminding Thorin for all the world of an offended grandmother, waiting for an apology. 

“I cannot apologize for something I don’t know I’ve done,” he began.

Bilbo sniffed, looking down at his hands. 

Thorin saw this as a positive reception in comparison to his previous welcomes. “So I’d like to ask what I’ve done so I can atone properly.”

The faunts eyes became sharp, and Thorin would swear that he was indeed older than his years. “If I say it outright it will have the opposite effect.”

“Where was I when I committed this atrocity?” Thorin pushed, slowly moving closer to perch on the edge of the bed, facing him.

The hobbit looked back down at his hands. 

Frustrated, he snapped, “Bilbo!”

“Erebor!”

Thorin froze, the blood draining from his face. “I was…I was in Erebor?” he asked, hope tinging his tone. 

Bilbo’s face darkened, still staring at his fingers that were now fisted in the sheet. “I would not say that the person who did those things could be considered _ you. _”

And then something clicked into place. “You mentioned gold while you were angry with me; does that have anything to do with it?” he asked, voice hoarse. 

His face crumpled. “Part,” was all he could manage as he tried to keep the tears at bay. 

Thorin did not think about his next move before he leaned in and wrapped an arm around the distraught boy’s shoulder, hushing him. “Don’t cry; it makes me angry.”

Bilbo coughed out a laugh. “Everything about me makes you angry.”

Thorin suddenly wondered if the Thorin in the ‘Before’, as Bilbo called it, knew that Bilbo was his One? The faunt didn’t seem to know, and Thorin had not told him yet. Perhaps the Thorin in his memories had chosen not to act on their bond for some reason, and grew mad with it?

“And you’re positive it was the gold?”

“And the dragon and that damned—” he cut himself off, his mouth shutting with a _ clop. _

Thorin proceeded carefully. “The what, Bilbo?”

“It doesn’t matter now and it won’t for some time,” he said, frustrated. He pulled back from Thorin’s embrace and scowled. “I’m not going to let that happen again! I’ll—I’ll—I’ll imprison you in the Shire if you try to go on that fool’s quest again!” he threatened, dashing his tears away with one hand as he pointed at Thorin with the other. “I have a place where I could keep you this time around, I truly do! It's in my home”

Thorin did not know how to respond, he just sat there, staring.

“If only Gandalf had been there,” he slumped, all the fire draining out of him. “So many things could have been prevented.”

Realisation came once again to Thorin as he observed the boy. “Bilbo, you were on that quest with me, weren’t you? To reclaim Erebor? What on earth for?” he asked, horrified. That his One had been so endangered and he’d done nothing about it was—

“Now don’t you start that again, you hated me all throughout the beginning of the quest too,” the kit scolded. “I was a most capable companion,” he sniffed. “Through the later bits, at least.”

Thorin found that he was less interested in the grand scheme of things than he should have been at that moment. “What were you like before the quest?” he asked with intent, forgetting for a moment how young this Bilbo was. He felt as though he were a small child speaking with an elderly storyteller.

A small grin graced his rounded features. “Stuffy, prim, proper, quite the respectable hobbit. No one could ever accuse me of that now,” he huffed a bit of laughter out. 

“And after the quest?”

Bilbo bit his lip, sad again. “Changed. I found that though I could return to the Shire, the hobbit that had left there so long ago could not.”

Thorin nodded, wondering if it would be the same when he eventually reclaimed Erebor, for he knew now with certainty that he would someday. His family would rule over a mountain once more. No longer would his sister have to grovel before small city lords of a crumbling kingdom far from their home. No more would his line be forced to humble themselves to the whims of others.

“What kind of King was I?” he wondered allowed. “Did you live long enough to see Fíli take the throne?”

Bilbo turned his attention back from his memories and gave it all to Thorin, piercing with its intensity. “I wouldn’t know.”

And then Thorin knew there was something terribly wrong.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo enjoys his new life in the royal's quarters and gets closer with Fíli and Kíli in a very dwarven fashion...


	21. In Which there are Braids of Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is asked to by his young dwarf friends to braid their hair. He does so, without understanding the significance.

Bilbo still hadn’t become accustomed to waking up inside the mountain. He could not hear the birds, nor see the sunlight streaming through the windows. Neither of these things was what had disturbed him from sleep, though. It had been two young dwarfs on the other side of the sleeping blanket, snoring loudly.

They had dined in the Durin family’s quarters the previous night, and he reasoned he must have fallen asleep in front of the fire after they had sung songs for each other. Bilbo had avoiding singing in any of the elvish tongues that time since he was feeling a bit less harsh towards Thorin. Instead, he had sung a song he’d heard from the riverfolk once, a long time ago. 

He remembered clearly the looks on their faces as he sang. The younger boys did not seem to grasp any significance, but both older dwarrow seemed to grow uneasy with each lilting phrase.

_ “Down, down the river we go, _

_ We ride full speed ahead; we never slow. _

_ Down, down to places unknown, _

_ We never noticed that we were alone. _

_ Down, down to the depths we’re drawn. _

_ Men-overboard! O'Yavanna, where have they gone?” _

Belladonna had frowned at her son, worriedly. Bilbo, for his part, had stared holes into Thorin as he sang. Shortly after, he had fallen asleep on the soft blanket he sat on with Fíli and Kíli. The two must have followed him into slumber. 

However, roused by the thunderous noise they both presented whilst asleep, Bilbo was ready to get up. The dwarrow tended to spread out in their sleep anyways, so there really wasn’t room for him on the blanket. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and stretched. One brother—he wasn’t sure which—snorted loudly as he came to wake as well. 

“Good morning,” Bilbo said as he turned to see who it was. 

Fíli blinked at him owlishly.

“Sorry I slept in your house without asking,” Bilbo ducked his head sheepishly. “I don’t remember falling asleep.”

The blond waved a dismissive hand. “Uncle said it was fine to leave you where you were.”

“I would have been fine if he’d woken me so I could have gone with my mother.”

Kíli rolled over to face them both, groaning as he woke, “I think your mother was busy with my amad.”

Bilbo brightened. “Have they made friends? That would be good for her; she hasn’t had any of late.”

“Something like that,” Fíli said with a grin and a yawn.

Bilbo flushed a bit, embarrassed he'd missed the implication. “Is she awake? If she is, I should go find her. She’ll want me to braid her hair.”

Both boys perked up. “Can you braid our hair? You’re really good at your amad’s.” They tripped over their words until Bilbo couldn’t tell who had said what.

“I don’t know how to do yours,” he responded finally. “I only know the ones my mother uses.”

Kíli tugged at his short locks. “Most of ours aren’t hard to do. We’ll tell you how to do those, and then Fí and I will do the hard ones on each other.”

Bilbo couldn’t find anything wrong with that. He wasn’t sure why they were both eyeing him with apprehension. With a shrug, he relented, and watched and the boys scrambled, wide-eyed, to sit in front of him, still and straight as statues.

“Bilbo?” Fíli asked, a trifle hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“Why do you put dwarvish braids in your mother’s hair?”

Bilbo bit his lips for a moment before he took a deep breath, beginning to braid. “After we were scarred, my mother received all manner of gifts from our neighbors—bonnets, scarves, even a cosmetic—so that she could hide or cover her scars.”

Both young dwarves gaped. “They didn’t want you to show off your valor?” Kíli demanded. 

“Such things are not respectable amoung hobbits. It draws too much attention and they are considered unsightly. Thankfully, we had some dwarrow friends in Bree that made my mother feel pride in her scars. They were the ones who taught me how to braid her hair the way I do to show them off. I don’t know any other kinds of braids.”

“And you don’t braid your hair at all?”

Bilbo smiled at them. “Braids are earned. Not given. Besides. I don’t want anything to make me stand out more than I already do. I don’t want the Shire to find reason to exile me.”

The process of being marked as an exile made him shudder. He’s like to keep his foot hair intact, thank you very much. Though, if that were to happen, he would want his mother to be spared from that. Fear clogged his throat for a few moments as he thought about being alone in the outside world without a home or his mother to help him.

“Is that a possibility?” Kíli asked in surprise. 

Bilbo nodded, tying of the second of two simple braids, which were three stranded. “If I am considered a negative influence on the faunts, or if I do something that could mark me as insane, or if I do something that scares them.”

Fíli looked mad. “Even if they exile you, you’ll always have a place here!” he assured. 

Bilbo smiled at him, feeling a bit better. “Thank you. Though I hope I won’t have to take you up on the offer out of necessity. Now. Teach me what to do, you promised you would.”

“Oh!” Fíli remembered the task, laughing a little. “Braid another simple three-stranded braid and then I’ll give you the next steps.”

For the next half an hour, Bilbo followed their directions, carefully weaving their hair into beautiful plaits. Both of them insisted that he be the one to braid their hair and that it wasn’t fair if only Kíli got to have his hair braided by Bilbo. To his surprise, once he was finished with theirs, they turned on him and buried their fingers into his curls to tie intricate twists and plaits into them. 

“Wait, what are you doing?” he demanded, tsking as he tried to slap their hands away.

“I’m doing a braid of Brotherhood to match ours,” Kíli grinned down at him from where he kneeled above him.

“And I’m doing a braid of Fortitude,” Fíli called from where he worked behind him. 

Bilbo sighed and allowed the treatment, only wincing slightly when they pulled the long ringlets away from the claw marks that began on his face and ran down his neck to his shoulder. They were not clean, and they pulled at his face in an unappealing way, stealing all softness a faunt should have. In the end, they tied the entire mass back with a leather cord to the nape of his neck so all was exposed. 

“Oh, no, I—”

“There,” Kíli nodded in satisfaction as he tiled his head back and forth to get a better look at his face. “Much better.”

And truthfully, Bilbo felt much better. It was almost easier to breathe without his curls clinging around his neck like a noose of other’s unmeetable expectations. Fíli handed him a pocket mirror with a shined, reflective stone embedded in the stone base. The image was slightly distorted, but he could still see a brief flash of the last moments of Bungo Baggin’s life in the similar face he saw there. He hadn’t seen himself in a long time. His chest tightened and he quickly snapped the mirror shut. His attempt to hand it back with a smile and a word of thanks was hampered when a sob choked his throat. 

Neither boy questioned his tears, nor did they ask why he was crying, thank Yavanna. They each just wrapped an arm around his shoulder and swayed back and forth quietly. 

“You’ll always have a place with us, Bilbo,” Fíli assure. 

Bilbo could almost believe that was true.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo has a guardian...well, not ANGEL, per se, but close enough. She's been watching him closely, and she doesn't like what she sees. But who is she? Why is she keeping a close watch on Bilbo? And what really happened that day after Bilbo met with the city lords?


	22. In Which Siethös Watches from Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a guardian...well, not ANGEL, per se, but close enough. She's been watching him closely, and she doesn't like what she sees. But who is she? Why is she keeping a close watch on Bilbo? And what really happened that day after Bilbo met with the city lords?

There were three things that Siethös _ didn’t _ want. She did not want Bilbo to convince the line of Durin not to go on the quest to retake Erebor. She did _ not _ want Bilbo to die or be so injured _ he _could not go on the quest. But most of all, she did not want Yavanna to find out she’d stolen this Bilbo away before he'd reached her gardens. 

She hissed as she watched Bilbo exit his home in Belegost on wobbly legs. The irritation she felt could not be blamed on the poor hobbit. Her legs twitched in agitation as he teetered dangerously toward the street where dwarves were pushing carts full of ore. He was going to be run over if he wasn’t careful! 

It was her own fault this was happening. Siethös had broken her little toy! But what could be done now? It was too late to change anything. All there was left to do was mope and hiss. 

Usually, she did not venture this far from her crevice in the ceiling over the city. When Bilbo had first arrived in Belegost, she’d snuck in and found the deep space comfortable enough, if a bit shabby. She liked her crevices with lots of pretties to keep her company. She was the Valar of Mischief and Lost Things, after all. 

Bilbo hadn’t _ technically _been lost, but she felt she could make a fairly firm case if Yavanna ever found out he’d been plucked from her garden and stolen away. 

She had enjoyed watching the funny little creature for the first few days, always making sure she stayed relatively close to wherever he was. He had a bad habit of getting into trouble, she’d noted. So it was best to keep a close eye on him while he got settled in this place _ he was never supposed to be in the first place. _

Not that she was complaining. Much. 

She did worry that she would have to step in when he’d allowed himself to be wailed on by three minuscule brats for some unfathomable reason but he’d managed to pull himself out of it relatively unscathed. Siethös felt it would be bad to reveal herself, _ especially _to the Dwarven race. They tended to be the nosy sort, not unlike their creator. If they were to see her current unsightly appearance, they’d likely father a small army to kill her. Contrary to her appearance, she wasn’t some spider to be squished on sight. She tried not to wine at the thought, curling further into the darkness as though someone were scanning the ceiling right at that moment, waiting to catch sight of her. 

_ Oh, how the mighty have fallen, _she sighed.

If only the same could be said about Melkor’s devoted follower, Sauron. Regrets were not the only thing she retained from her past life. She also held knowledge. Vast knowledge not even her cute hobbit toy knew about. 

Bilbo was many things, burglar, ring-bearer, elf-friend, _ barrel-rider _… but most importantly—he was the catalyst for the end. 

In all fairness, Bilbo Baggins was in no way responsible for Sauron’s rise to power, nor the corruptness spread by the One Ring. In one version of reality, it was some other poor soul that made the misfortune of coming across that ghastly thing. In another, it never left Gollum’s adoring hands ‘till it fell into the possession of Mordor when he was captured years after Bilbo _ would _have found it had he not remained in the Shire. Of course, the original Bilbo of the reality Siethös found herself in now had died that night the wolves got into the Smail along with both of his parents. 

Each reality differed slightly, but all had the same outcome: Sauron won and Melkor reigned supreme darkness over what was left of the world. As per her punishment that was doled out by the other Valar, Siethös had watched this same decline over and over and over again. Eventually, she stopped looking for Sauron’s defeat and started expecting his success. Until one reality avoided that cruel fate. 

She had been shocked. She’d kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Sauron to survive or Melkor to appear. But it never happened… 

Why? How had that happened? What was so different, so wonderful, so earth-shattering about this reality than all the others? Why had this one been allowed to live on in light and continue as it had before while so many others suffered the darkness? And when had her heart become so turned against darkness? 

She analysed again and again. What was different? What was the catch? It didn’t take long to verify who it was. It was more obvious than she’d ever thought. She’d always ignored Gandalf’s trip to the Shire since nothing ever came of it. She’d grown tired of watching him try to draw out the fussy creature he always went for. Why had been beyond her. But perhaps Gandalf had known something she did not. 

Because he could play an active role and she was forced to watch on the sidelines, forever a spectator. 

Bilbo. 

Bilbo was magic. That could be the only reason. One hobbit had so much riding on him. So much riding on a simple decision to get up and leave his comfortable home and throw himself into a journey that would mark him forever. 

So no. It was not Bilbo’s fault that Sauron gained victory. Quite the opposite in fact. It was Bilbo’s destiny to ensure he didn’t. 

In no other reality had he ever participated in the quest for Erebor. No other reality had he come back and told tales to the other Shirelings, but specifically, to Frodo. He was the catalyst. He was what everything good and living and light hinged on.

So she’d stolen his soul before it reached Yavanna’s garden. It wasn’t as though Yavanna would notice. There were an eternity of other Bilbo’s dying. How would she ever know that one was missing? Siethös certainly wasn’t going to tell her. As long as she didn’t look into this world and see a Bilbo that wasn’t supposed to be there, everything would be fine. It wasn’t as though she’d ever looked before. So there was no harm!

Siethös had been a spectator for thousands of realities, watching the chaos she’d helped create destroy good, promising people that loved and were loved in return. 

There was a pesky little rule about not interfering with Middle Earth and its inhabitants directly. What they called Gandalf, Siethös didn’t know. But surely _ her _actions were no worse than that. It was a stupid rule in any case. She’d watched darkness prevail over and over and over again and she was tired of watching them not act under the guise of ‘autonomy’ or something equally as stupid. They were just being lazy. No reality deserved a fate so terrible as those that Melkor controlled. 

Perhaps she should have felt _ some _ guilt over plucking the hobbit from Yavanna’s garden, but what would she do with him anyways? It was not as though _ she _cared that this Bilbo had been the catalyst for victory. All she would do was reincarnate him as another hobbit without his memories and then he’d be useless! Foolish Valar and their rules! Where was their compassion? Where was their sense of honour?!

So obviously, Siethös found no issue breaking their rules even if it meant risking eternal exile or worse, and extension of her punishment. Surely nothing could come close to the torture of watching civilization and all its inhabitants fall again and again without being able to step in. Even Mahal could not be persuaded to take action. 

No. They could not be _ too _ put out with Siethös for this. In any case, Yavanna still owed her for saving that same hobbit and his dwarves with her webs that instance where they nearly fell to their deaths in Mirkwood. So really, they shouldn’t be _ too _vengeful…

Her legs twitched with discomfort. She’d been hidden in this crevice for so long! Siethös hadn’t had a chance to stretch her legs since she’d ventured out of this crevice about seven weeks ago. She’d only done it to rescue her little hobbit toy from danger. A few well-placed illusions and a bit of accidental trauma had done the trick! And nearly melted his brain in the process. But that had been an accident!

How was she to know his brain would respond like a hobbit faunt’s would and not an adult’s? It wasn’t as if she’d been in this situation before. This time was different. 

She hadn’t had a choice when she’d intervened. Someone had dared to attack him, her little Foundling. Bilbo had written the whole situation off as a panic attack. Siethös had written it off as a tasty little morsel. Who knew that Barnt was Lord Bragn’s son? Well, she supposed he wasn’t anyone now. 

As a result, the shabby little city of Belegost had been on high alert for trouble in the caverns and tunnels so her movements had been quite limited. She wondered if she should feel some sense of guilt for devouring him. After all, wasn’t he one of the creatures she was trying to rescue from the impending darkness?

She searched deeply, looking for any small bit of remorse inside her soul. Finding none, she shrugged as she contemplated. Well. That was to be expected. Earning back one’s goodness could hardly be done in a millennium of reliving realities, now could it? 

She should have been congratulated for not having eaten him sooner, really. His soul was indeed lost, and now, she’d done a good thing and returned it to Aulë. He’d not been _ ecstatic, _ but since she was in a mortal body, as evidenced by a missing limb, he’d been pleased that she had, for the most part, stayed out of trouble in his city of Fire Beards. And really, why _ wouldn’t _he be pleased? 

Siethös had even tampered with Barnt’s soul so he wouldn’t retain the fear he’d instilled into it. Yes, it was true. She _ was _a benevolent creature. Surely anyone could see.

Unfortunately, not everything was going as swimmingly as her own ‘Reforging’ as the dwarves called it. Even after she’d given Bilbo more memories to help combat the fragility she’d discovered upon using her illusions on him, she’d only broken him further. It had been seven weeks since then. He wasn’t _ dying _ per se, but it was almost like he was _ fading. _ Something so distinctly Elvish should not be possible for the hobbit’s soul, but this was new territory and Siethös wasn’t entirely sure what his soul was capable of. He _ had _been very close with Elves in the ‘Before’ as Belladonna referred to it, but could that truly had an effect on him? 

It was possible. Belladonna was beginning to exhibit symptoms like Bilbo’s as well. That was not promising at all. The _ last _thing Siethös needed was for the two of them to show up in front of Ilúvatar in the Halls of Mandos. That would definitely lead to Yavanna discovering her little secret. If something didn’t change soon, Siethös would have to step in, and that would be a whole mess. 

Bilbo was never supposed to come to Belegost in the first place. That hadn’t been part of the plan. Not that it mattered. If it turned out to steer reality of its course of victory, Siethös would simply remove Bilbo and all traces of him from Belegost and the minds of its inhabitants. It would force her to hibernate for a few years to recover, but it would be well worth it. She knew just the crevice, too. But as long as Bilbo didn’t convince Thorin not to quest for Erebor, there would be no need for that.

Frowning, she watched as Bilbo lost consciousness mid-stride and fall face-first into the road. All activity ceased around them as dwarves rushed to his aid. He’d better not make her intervene. But any more of this fading nonsense and he’d find himself back in Hobbiton where he should have been in the first place. He’d be lucky if he’d let him keep _ his _memories of Belegost. 

Yes, it was decided. She could not wait much longer to step in. Bilbo would find out very quickly that if he persisted in trying to derail his destiny, he would find that he had a very…_ arachnid _bodyguard to keep him on the straight and narrow. 

Siethös would make sure to keep him company since she was sure he would be lonely in the impending absence of his dwarves. 

_ I’ll be seeing you soon, Bilbo. _She promised as she climbed deeper into the ceiling’s crevice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, when Dís watches negotiations between the city lords and a visiting merchant go south, she learns a dangerous secret her little hobbit friends have been keeping from her and along with it, a rather interesting one Bilbo has been keeping all to himself...


	23. In Which Dís Meets a Guild Merchant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dís watches negotiations between the city lords and a visiting merchant go south, she learns a dangerous secret her little hobbit friends have been keeping from her and along with it, a rather interesting one Bilbo has been keeping all to himself...

Dís had to wonder why she was here. The city lords had already made it abundantly clear to her that under no circumstances was she to interfere further with any trade coming into Belegost.

Of course, this was because they were businessmen and short-sighted ones at that. They were not true rulers. They became the city lords for power over the tax revenue and incoming resources. It was a shame the citizens had to suffer for their greed. 

Both lords knew Dís had a habit of getting underfoot during negotiations such as this since she’d had a certain lesson pounded into her head repeatedly during her youth: a deal forged with outside sources was never a good deal unless it benefited both. The idea was that the outside sources would _ want _to come back so that you might trade again. Not to swindle them for all their worth and have them spread the news about your bad trading habits everywhere else. 

That was the true nature of the hardships in Belegost. It was not that there was a shortage of food nearby, just a shortage of decent trade habits. Quick to make coin does not constitute long to live life.

With all that in mind, Dís had no idea why she’d been allowed to come to the negotiations for this trade. Even as important as this was, Bilbo had collapsed yet again today which made the second time this week and Belladonna wouldn’t leave their quarters, content to sit by the fireplace and paint.

“We will buy your entire wagon’s stock for our flat rate,” Lord Bragn intoned as though he were doing _ the Man _a service instead of the other way around.

The tall Man scoffed from where he and three rangers stood next to said wagon. “No deal. I'm a Guild Merchant and I don't have a Verifier to oversee negotiations. If you aren’t interested in my goods, I’ll talk to the other firebeards. Customers aren’t in short supply for the Guild. It was my understanding you had two hobbits lodging with you this winter.”

Lord Bragn stiffened. “What does that have to do with anything?”

_ How very rude, _Dís thought as she watched the negotiations begin to fall apart. 

“Those folk will eat you outta house and home,” the merchant laughed, not seeming bothered by the attitude of the city lords.

“Perhaps that is why our food shortage is greater this year,” Lord Terrence grumbled, scratching his white beard.

Lord Bragn was quick to jump on that. “Yes! Surely the hobbits can find somewhere...”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise as she ignored the city lords’ impending speeches. “Oh? I have no experience that in the least. They lodge in our quarters. From what I’ve observed, they eat less than we dwarrow do.”

“Truly?” he looked shocked. “Then how do they maintain their health…?”

Dís froze and with her, the world seemed to still. _ Could it be? _

The Man kept talking even when she didn’t respond. “Hobbits eat seven meals a day to maintain their blood sugar, bodyfat, and temperature. I can’t imagine it’s very warm in the mountain.”

“You seem to know a lot about hobbits, master merchant,” she managed to get out. 

“Aye,” he smiled. “The Guild is owned by a business hobbit back in the Shire,” he responded. “Never met the lad himself but the are tales going around about him that are about as tall as this mountain.”

The city lords stopped their rant —had they still been talking?— and joined back in on the conversation. “Tales?”

“Aye, Lord Terrence. The Shirefolk aren’t fond of him, it seems. Something about his father’s death.” He shrugged. “But enough about my employer. Are you interested in trading at a fair price or will I need to somewhere else?”

“How did his father die?” Lord Bragn demanded. He was always looking for an excuse to sully the Shireling’s name, or even better, an excuse to get them out of his mountain.

Dís waited with bated breath. 

Frowning, the merchant replied, “Wolves attacked him and his family last winter. He and his mother barely made it out alive by the time the rangers got to them, but there was no chance for the father. That’s all I know.”

“Hmph!” Lord Bragn scoffed, rubbing his overly round belly. 

_ Yes, I know exactly why the food shortages will be worse this year, _ Dís thought sourly. _ How dare they accuse her hobbits instead of taking ownership for fattening themselves and their friends up for winter? _

“He probably set it up the whole thing."

No sooner had the words left his mouth had the Man climbed up unto his wagon.

Lord Bargn sputtered, affronted at the merchant's cold dismissal. "Where are you going?” he demanded.

The Man was turning his horse and wagon around. The rangers escorting him stood and mounted. The merchant did not look back as he replied, “anywhere our young master will not be insulted. I happen to know of at least three other locations in want of my merchandise in the near vicinity. You’d best remember not to be spreading any of your ignorant lies about the guild master, or you’ll find it easier to find an Arkenstone in your mountain than a merchant willing to trade with you."

She had to think quickly. “Bilbo is in our mountain!” Dís shouted after him.

The wagon stopped. “Truly?” he called back to her, a boyish grin replacing the sour expression on his face. “Well why didn’t you say so? I’ll trade with him!” 

“Bilbo’s really in there?” one of the ranger’s voices caught her ears. 

“Now that I think about it, Tannyer accompanied a caravan with the young master on it a few months ago. He wasn’t in the group that escorted the caravans back a few weeks later, though, so I don’t know if Young Master Bilbo truly stayed or not.”

Dís hurried to assure them. “You can speak to him directly. He and his lovely amad, Belladonna, board with me and my family. I had no idea the merchant we would be meeting today had any affiliation with him.”

“I’m Edwer Stok, my lady. And you’ll find that most merchants have either heard of him or work in his Guild.”

“The hobbit kit has a Guild?” Lord Terrence sounded surprised and a bit defeated.

But Edwer Stok acted as though the city lord wasn’t even there. “Shall we go in or will he come out, do you think?” 

Dís couldn’t keep the worried look of her face. “You had better come in. He’s with our healer right now. He collapsed again. Why don’t you tell me about this Guild while we walk.” 

“I’d be more than happy to, my lady!” Edwer replied cheerfully. 

Then he hopped down off his wagon and gave orders to the rangers to stand guard. Dís couldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the city lords began taking control of the wagons by force. 

“Dís _Burns_, that is not your choice to make!” Lord Bragn yelled, marching around to block her path. The subtle emphasis on the false second name was not lost on her. “Merchants will trade directly with us and no others in Belegost!” he spat. 

His spittle his Dís’ face. Her patience, taut as a harp string, snapped. She stepped deeply into his space so she was looming over him. “Do not think that I will allow you to cut the people of Belegost off from the outside world. You are _ nothing _ to me. I allow you to stay where you are because I believe you may yet have something of worth to offer.” She growled. “But you toe the line. Watch your step.” 

She pushed past him with little effort, leaving him to stumble to catch his balance. Rearranging her face into a friendly smile, she gestured for Edwer to follow her. “I shall enjoy hearing about the Guild. Bilbo is like family to us,” she said, looking at Bragn. _ Touch them and die. _“We love to hear stories about him.”

He squinted at her. “You’ll find only good ones coming from me, so if gossip is what you're after—” 

“No, no,” she soothed. “Bilbo and I are good friends. He and my sons get along famously.”

Still looking a bit suspicious, he cast a glance over his shoulder at the city lords. “If you’re sure,” he said, not sounding sure himself.

“Would you like one of your rangers to accompany you?” she asked out of courtesy. “I would not think ill of you if you did.”

That seemed to make him feel a bit better about the whole situation. “That's right kind of you. I’ll take you up on the offer.”

The walk to Óin’s was a pleasant one, despite having a ranger there to guard their guest. The ‘Guild’ as Mr. Stok called it, was a united group of merchants that worked together to propagate fair trade in the free market. If people were trading with someone in the Guild, they knew that whatever they were buying would be fetched at the same price anyone else in the Guild of that sector would sell it for. Bartering and haggling was discouraged unless you had a ‘Verifier’ there to do the negotiating. It reduced the risk of customers being swindled and built trust between the merchants and the community. 

To be in the Guild you had to consent to sell your goods at a certain price and consent to having your goods checked by an expert —a Verifier— to ensure they were being traded at a fair price for what they were worth.

It was a lot of freedom for the gipsy-like community of merchants to give up. So, as an incentive, Bilbo supplemented their wares as soon as they joined so that they would be off on the right foot immediately. Even people who had no prior experience in the trading business were able to get jobs through the Guild. Either being hired to work for it or becoming a part of it as a merchant. 

Dís couldn't help but notice the hero-worship Edwer had for her little hobbit friend. Apparently his family had been in a rough patch after the Fell Winter. But the Guild had revitalized their business and cleared their name of the misdeeds his father had committed as a merchant before him. Now their family lived a comfortable life and were very happy in Bree.

“What is the benefit of being in the Guild?” Dís wondered as they made their way down a side street that would lead to the healer’s clinic. 

“It’s true that our young master takes a percentage of what we earn annually, but in return, we are given access to all sorts of products we never could have dreamed of having as merchandise. In terms of personal benefits, we have access to healers at a discounted price. They’re part of the Guild too.”

“Healers? I thought it was only merchants in the Guild?”

“Not by a long shot. Everyone can get something out of being part of the Guild,” Edwer educated her. “For example, healers have access to herbs and medicine at a discounted price as well as the ability to request certain ingredients they need for tinctures and salves to become available to them. You’d also find farmers and other craftsmen in the Guild too. The Guild needs farmers and craftsmen to supply merchandise, and the farmers and craftsmen need to sell their goods at a reasonable price. Everybody wins.” He shrugged. “That’s why we’re all so fond of our young master. Our bellies are full, our families are healthy, and we’re all happy. What more could we ask for from an employer?”

Dís felt an overwhelming sense of respect for Bilbo at the moment. He never spoke deeply about the business he conducted; never sought the praise of others. But she’d seen him writing his letters and checking the books all throughout the night on many occasions. It was obvious he had to be incredibly wealthy. If that was the case, then why wasn’t he or Belladonna eating more or asking for other necessities the hobbits needed? Were they truly cold inside the mountain? Dwarror ran at a high temperature, so Dís hadn’t even thought about it. 

“I appreciate your loyalty to him, Mr. Stok. You’ll find that most of the dwarrow respect loyalty above all else.”

He looked sheepish. “Well, thank you, my lady. But since you've met our young master, I’m sure you understand.”

She laughed. “Indeed I do. Bilbo must be the Valar’s gift to us mortals!” she proclaimed merrily. 

He nodded with wide eyes. “My family and I also think so, my lady," he told her conspiratorially.

They were nearing Óin’s clinic, and Dís had another question for Mr. Stok. “Mr. Stok, what of the merchants that are not a part of the Guild?” she asked. “Why wouldn’t they want to be apart of that?”

The Man grimaced. “The Guild is building up an honourable reputation throughout the west. So I suppose there are merchants in the east who do not have access to it yet, even with it expanding as quickly as it is.”

“And those in the west?”

“If you aren’t a part of the Guild you seem to gain a reputation for selling your goods overpriced. Some people resist because they don’t want to answer to no one. Others because they think they can make a higher profit from being alone. You’d have to sell for higher if you weren’t part of the Guild because you wouldn’t have access to the discounts that you would if you were. But in the eyes of the community, if you aren’t in the Guild, you might as well close shop because no one will buy from you.”

“That sounds harsh,” she confessed. 

He tilted his head to the side. “Maybe. I think it’s a matter of security. People know they won’t be cheated by us. I agree that it’s an unfortunate byproduct, but if you weigh the benefits against the drawbacks, it’s easy to see the benefits far outweigh it in the long run. Young Master Bilbo is still young. I believe he’ll only continue to improve the system.” Then, looking proud, he puffed out his chest. “He’ll go down in history as the father of fair trade across the entirety middle earth!” he proclaimed. 

Dís laughed brightly. “I think you must be right, Mr. Stok. Here we are,” she led him into the alcove where the door was. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have raised a fuss about meeting you right away. Best bring you to him than risk him giving Óin the slip and going to find you. Still, let’s try to keep the excitement to a minimum,” she advised. 

He nodded seriously. “Yes, ma’am. I would be the last person to upset our young master.”

Dís smiled and opened the door. 

Bilbo was in the front room, chatting with Óin when they arrived. “Ah, Lady Dís! I thought you had a meeting with the city lords,” he smiled welcomingly. 

Dís stepped him before Mr. Stok. He seemed to be a bit nervous so she let him be. Walking over to him, she leaned down to press a gentle kiss into his nest of curls. He was always so clean and sweet-smelling. Much more fun to kiss than her own children with their greasy hair that smelled like the kitchens and sweat.

“Hello, Bilbo. I _ was _at a meeting. It didn’t go well. The city lords nearly lost the entire trade by offering a low flat rate for Mr. Stok’s goods.”

His eyes flared with recognition. “Mr. Stok is here? He’s in my—I do business with him,” he revised quickly. 

She squinted at him before smiling sweetly. “Yes well, we had a nice long chat on the way here all about your Guild.”

He gasped, before grabbing onto her tunic. “Don’t tell mother!” he pleaded. “The last thing she needs is to realize I've expanded across the western market. This is supposed to be a holiday.”

“Yes, it is. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you working your _ holiday _nights away when you think the rest of us are sleeping.” Dís knew her beloved would be positively livid once she found out he'd grown the business so much without her. She was a hands-on sort of mother and with Bilbo the way he was, working with him in business was as close to supervising him as she got. 

Bilbo sighed. “You’ve caught me.” Then he began to stand. “I would very much like to meet with Mr. Stok. He is a very capable business partner and I’d like to hear all about the Guild’s effects on the rest of the free market. But not like this. I need to be properly dressed for the occasion. Will you help me get ready?”

“He’s already here, Bilbo, waiting just outside the door.” 

Bilbo squeaked indignantly, murmuring about being in his dressing gown. Glaring at Dís, he quickly pulled his vest over it and climbed back into the bed to cover himself from the waist down. It seemed that he was as prepared as he was going to be at present. 

Cheeks flushed and looking a little embarrassed, he asked Dís to let him in. The man in question held his hat clutched between his two hands and hesitantly stepped in. 

“Greetings, young master,” he bowed his head and seemed to wince at the reverence in his own tone. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

Bilbo looked a bit confused at this attitude directed at him, though why, Dís wasn’t sure. “I’m very pleased to meet you as well, Edwer Stok. I’ve read many good reports on your progress in the Guild.”

_ Yes, reports, _ Dís thought, suspecting that her own informant had been working with Bilbo as well. The dwarrow had met the boy once and had been completely charmed. So of course, now that Bilbo’s access to the outside world wasn’t restricted, he’d taken control of western trade. _ And _her informant.

“Thank you, young master!” he exclaimed, eyes bright. “No cheating or swindling will ever be done by me, no sir!”

Smiling Bilbo nodded. “I would suspect not. In fact, the Verifier is very impressed with your careful records and your honest track record. I’m not worried at all,” Bilbo assured him. 

Somehow, Bilbo sounded more mature now than he had when he’d first arrived in Belegost. He’d been sifted through all his new memories for the past two months. Even though he used more common language to communicate now, he sounded so much older. It was wonderful to see him interacting with his subordinates on their level. He would make a wonderful partner for Thorin in the future. Both natural leaders. Even if Thorin didn’t have a kingdom to rule, something told Belladonna that Bilbo could build one for him with no trouble. The future had never looked so bright for the line of Durin.

Head still bowed, he croaked out, “I’m honoured to be given these great opportunities. I will not let you or the Guild down.”

If Dís could see a tear rolling down his cheek, she wouldn’t have admitted it. Mr. Stok had mentioned his father’s bad business reputation. _ He must be working very hard to clear his family name, though I’ve never heard it before. _

Dís stepped in front of him to block Bilbo’s view as he dried his tears with his sleeve. “Mr. Stok came to trade food with us, Bilbo,” she told him, coming to sit down beside him. “He almost left, with the way the city lords were trying to cheat him out of his money.”

Bilbo scowled. “Unacceptable. I’ll have to speak to them directly.”

“Yes. After they insulted you, he turned his wagon around and started heading anywhere else.” Dís smiled at the way Bilbo flushed and Mr. Stok held his head a little higher with pride, not seeming to mind her sharing that at all.

“That right, the Guild does not tolerate anyone spreading rumours about our young master.”

Dís sifted her fingers through his curls. “It seems you’ve found quite a few loyal people, Bilbo. I’m proud of you.”

Bilbo shook his head, looking happy, but still red with embarrassment. “It’ is my luck to have found them. All I can do to repay their loyalty is to become the best business hobbit I can so that everyone can profit from it.”

“Speaking of profit, are you going to trade with him?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, Dís. _ You _ shall be trading with Mr. Stok. _ I _shall be speaking with the city lords. You will do the large scale trading on behalf of Belegost from now on,” he told her. 

“Oh, you’ve just decided that will be so?” she queried, raising a brow.

“It’s been a long time in coming. I’ll speak to Mintears straight away. She’ll give you access to the treasury.”

This hobbit was scarily good at having connections in high places. Dís was just glad he was on her side. Although, she had to wonder, were the city lords actually ruling anything anymore? She had to think back to how Bilbo had described them to her after meeting them for the first time. 

_ Props on a stage, _he’d said. 

If that was the case, Bilbo was an excellent Playmaster, and it seemed he was setting the stage for her to take the lead role. 

A scary hobbit indeed.

And she loved him to pieces.

Loved him _so _much, in fact, that she would be confronting both he and his mother at the earliest opportunity.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Dís and Balin are called to witness a meeting between Bilbo and the city lords. Bilbo has some shocking news to bring to the table but when the tables turn and he is harmed in an attempt to destroy his evidence against them, Dís snaps.


	24. In Which Dís Knows Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dís and Balin are called to witness a meeting between Bilbo and the city lords. Bilbo has some shocking news to bring to the table but when the tables turn and he is harmed in an attempt to destroy his evidence against them, Dís snaps.

Dís did not think of herself as the widely known stereotype of a dwarrow. When one thought of dwarves, they likely thought of things like mining and metal crafting and warfare. She had never found that she fit that generalized (and albeit lacking) description of her race. While she knew plenty of dwarrow that did, she had always fancied herself more a scholar than a miner, more a politician than a metal worker, and more a tactician than a warrior. 

Her brother was a warrior. Fierce, hot-headed, and deadly in battle. He’s inherited that from their father, King Thrain II. Dís had taken after their mother more. Every dwarrow could fight. They were a warrior race, after all. However, it was a matter of _how _they fought. Dís, much to the anger of many dwarrow, always gravitated toward long-range weapons and traps rather than front on assault weapons. But then, she'd always been that way. A bit different than the majority of her family, but she and her mother were cut of the same stone.

They both preferred to sharpen their minds like weapons and rely on quiet calculation rather than outright confrontation. As 'dishonourable' as their fighting style was according to the majority, neither of them could be made to care as long as it saved lives. Her mother had had the most even-keeled disposition anyone had ever seen on a dwarf. With years of practice, Dís prided herself on her patient temperament and liberal use of thought before action. After years of practice, there were very few things that could get a rise out of her.

However, she’d just found that watching her little Shireling be_ attacked right in front of her _ was enough to send her into a murderous rage. It had been like a battering ram tearing down her carefully constructed barriers in one fell swoop. Later, she would look back on the events of that day and feel completely justified in her actions. After all, who would dare to touch one of her kits without expecting to die, or at the very least, come out of the situation maimed beyond recognition? It was clearly a given.

It was a week after Mr. Stok had left, and Bilbo had been doing his best to avoid her. He likely felt the impending storm swirling around her and wisely chose to avoid its destructive path. Belladonna, for her part, had become so weak that she spent most of her time sleeping in her armchair by the fireplace or painting green landscapes and fishing ponds. She'd become rather fragile, and wasn't handling stress well. Dís worried about what a confrontation would do to her health; and thus, she had yet to bring the subject of their eating habits up. She had a feeling there was more to what was going on than either of them wanted to say. 

She knew she couldn’t put the conversation off much longer. Bilbo was making a habit of collapsing at inopportune moments and he was liable to fall off a third-story walkway or be crumple in the middle of a busy street and be trampled by dwarrow. 

_ Though, _ she thought with a wry smile. _ It may be prudent to speak of it with Thorin first so that he won’t startle my Shirelings when he starts bellowing. _

The problem was Thorin had been diligently working in his smithy and Dís hadn’t had a chance to speak to him when he wasn’t near fire and sharp objects. 

This cycle had gone on for a week. Bilbo had managed to slide from her clutches every time she approached him. After she realized she would earn no information from the kit in such a straightforward manner, she’d set her informant on him. She'd learned many interesting this, but the most notable thing was that Bilbo was more active while everyone was sleeping than he ever was during the day. Though where he got off to, her spy wouldn’t say. Apparently, Bilbo had yet another dwarrow wrapped around his little finger. Dís she found herself privately grumbling about that particular development quite a bit. 

Dís had, however, managed to get _ some _information out of her traitorous informant. Bilbo had rarely slept at all that week, and they'd gathered that it was likely that it was a continuous pattern. Since then, she'd made an effort to catch Bilbo up and about when everyone else as sleeping with varying success. For the most part, she had found him up doing paperwork so he could spend the day with them unencumbered. But at other times, Bilbo wasn't there in their shared home at all. It worried Dís. A byproduct of her little home investigation on Bilbo's sleep patterns had resulted in finding her lover awake throughout the nights as well. When the subject was finally broached with caution, Belladonna finally confessed to having trouble sleeping as well. The dwarrowdame hadn’t had any idea that had been going on. It unsettled her that there was so much she didn’t know about the situation. Something had to give. 

_ I will speak to Thorin as soon as Bilbo’s audience with the city lords is finished. _ She resolved. _ A week is more than long enough to confirm my Shirelings aren’t eating or sleeping enough. Now it’s time for the confrontation. _

So there she was, waiting for her honorary kit to arrive. Balin stood beside her, looking resigned. 

“Is there something wrong, Lord Balin?”

He shuffled so he was facing her. “I can’t help but feel this may be a waste of my time,” he admitted. “The young business hobbit has met with the city lord countless times without an unbiased witness before. Do you have any idea the volume of paperwork I receive afterwards whenever they meet?” he demanded. 

Dís winced in sympathy. She could only imagine. “There’s little I can do to comfort you except to reiterate: Bilbo would not ask me to summon you if this weren’t serious in nature. He is not the sort of toy with people’s time.”

Balin just hummed unhappily. “Well you know I would never refuse a request from my friend.”

Dís could hear what he was really saying. Friend yes, but also family, princess, _leader_. Balin was loyal to a fault. It was enough. 

When they finally heard Bilbo’s quiet little footsteps approaching, Dís relaxed. After his last adventures in these tunnels over two months before, she hadn’t allowed him to walk on his own whenever he left the main cavern. He had a terrible sense of direction and zero stone sense. But, he’d insisted he travel to the city lord’s audience hall alone today and she’d relented. But only because she was sure her informant wouldn't allow him to enter these tunnels without a careful watch guard either.

“Bilbo,” she smiled in greeting. “I’m glad you made it in time.”

Nodding, he shifted the wrapped stack of parchment in his hold. It must have been heavy for him, but he would not allow anyone save himself to touch it. Even Dís had no idea what Bilbo would bring to the table today, but she had a feeling it had everything to do with the papers he guarded so earnestly. If she had to guess, they were the _ same _paper’s she’d watched him poor over during the few nights she’d managed to catch him awake.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” she posed the question carefully. She may suspect what he was about to do, but Bilbo had been known to surprise her on more than one occasion. 

When he replied he sounded more alert than he had in weeks. “Yes, Lady Dís,” he replied calmly, eyes bright and sharp. “I’m ready. Thank you for coming, Lord Balin.”

Dís have to blink. Bilbo did not look like a kit right now. Something about him. The way he spoke, the way he was carrying himself… he must have uncovered more of his memories. He looked a bit more haggard, a bit more haunted. But steady, nonetheless.

Lord Blain nodded. “You’re welcome, Young Master Baggins.”

The guards who stood at either side of the door looked to Bilbo for the cue. Taking a deep breath, he nodded and straightened his shoulders, jaw set in a firm line. Bilbo Baggins was about to go off for battle, it seemed. Mahal help whoever ended up opposing him considering it would be fought with keenness of wit and sharpness of intellect. 

“My lords,” one of the door guards bellowed into the small room as he led them forwards. “Young Master Bilbo, Lady Dís of the line of Burns, and Lord Balin son of Fundin seek an audience.

“Let them in,” Lord Terrence intoned in what Dís figured was an attempt to sound benevolent. 

It was all a moot point anyways because they had already entered. Both lords sat on their throne-like chairs, waiting for their dues to be paid to them. Bilbo did not bow, nor did he incline his head with respect. 

“Greetings, Lord Terrence and Lord Bragn,” Bilbo began. “Thank you for meeting with me today.”

He was composed. Dís had to admire his unwavering gaze. He was unaffected by nerves despite being the smallest person in a room full of dwarrow each powerful in their own right. Dís and Balin took up their positions near Mintears, who kneeled at her writing desk beside the fireplace. 

“Why is it that you’ve called yet _ another _meeting this week?” Lord Terrence sounded put upon. 

Bilbo did not seem to take offence at his rudeness. “I’ve come to ask you about the food distribution last winter.”

Lord Bragn scratched his brown beard and shifted on his throne to lean forward, appearing less bored. “And why would you want to know anything about that?”

“Well,” Bilbo looked down at his papers and thumbed through a few. “As you know, winter is nearly upon us. My desire in coming here was to eliminate Belegost’s food shortages during the winter months since my merchants were not allowed to trade more than the agreed-upon limit during the summer and winter months.”

The lord scoffed. “Yet again you wish to bring up the terms of our agreement! And yet again we will refuse. You are wasting our time, _ kit! _You just had one of your merchants in last week.”

Dís frowned, about to speak up, but Balin beat her to it. 

“Query,” he interrupted, with the formal etiquette befitting his role as the third-party observer. “What is this agreement you’re talking about?”

Bilbo turned to him and pulled out a piece of paper from his hefty stack. “This is a copy of the agreement,” he handed it to the white-haired witness. 

Balin’s brows furrowed as he scanned it. Then his eyes bulged and he looked bewildered. His gaze jerked up to the dwarrow sitting on the thrones. “My lords, _ why? _” he cried, waving the paper around in the air erratically. “Why would you restrict merchants from trading and selling with the Belegost?”

Dís snatched the paper, heart caught in her throat as she read it. The agreement was simple. Bilbo would be allowed to sell directly to the people of Belegost but he would be restricted as to how much and what wares were allowed to enter Belegost as listed in the terms of the agreement. Two wagons per month. 

“Bilbo,” she gasped. “Why would you ever agree to something like this?”

Bilbo cringed. “The alternative would be to sell directly to the city lord and _ they _ would sell to the people of Belegost at a much higher price. If I had agreed to that it would have been impossible to sell to the people who actually _ need _basic supplies and food,” he explained.

Lord Terrence glared coolly at Balin. “If we were to allow just any merchant to come into Belegost and sell whatever the please, we would lose track of the citizen’s purchases for tax records.”

Balin was shaking, distraught and angry. “The people of Belegost are _ hungry, _my lords! Winter is coming and we are not prepared. Our food stores are depleted and many of us will not last through the winter if you continue with this madness!”

“Lord Balin, you must excuse us if we do not find merit in the words of an advisor who was taught his craft by the very same Councilor who stood by while King Thror went mad.”

The dwarf looked as though someone had just slapped him. Dís would not stand for that. Stepping forwards, she stated in a calm and level voice. “Lord Balin has been nought but an asset to Belegost since we sought refuge here decades ago. He has been nothing but selfless with his time and dedication to his craft. I will not stand by while you insult him for something neither he nor his father had any control over. That aside, Lord Balin is not wrong in his assessments. You will lead us all to ruin if you continue with this.”

Sighing, Lord Terrence spoke as though explaining matters to a small child, and not the princess of what used to be the mightiest dwarven kingdom in history. “Belegost needs taxes to sustain itself. Ample taxes maintain repairs, mining equipment, even the supplies and food you are all so concerned about. We have the situation well in hand,” he assured.

“_‘Concerned’ _ about?” Bilbo asked sharply. “I am not ‘_concerned’ _ for the hungry middle and lower class citizens of Belegost.” His glare sharpened. “I am not ‘ _ concerned’ _ that you care more about collecting the most tax money as possible from those who cannot afford to clothe themselves against the harsh winters. I am _ appalled _ that _ six _ kits and four infants _ died _ due to starvation last year because you were ‘ _ concerned’ _about your tax revenue!” he shouted, much to the astonishment of his audience. 

Bilbo did not make a habit of shouting, which is why to hear it happen now was so startling. “That makes _ ten! _ How many more do you think will die this year because of this ignorance? How many will mourn their loss? How loud do they wail in grief for you to hear them and understand that they are suffering?”

“Enough!” Lord Bragn barked. 

Lord Terrence shook his head, his white hair shifting back and forth. “Are you finished throwing your tantrum now?”

Bilbo flushed, but Dís could tell it was not in embarrassment, but in anger. “Not hardly,” he said darkly. Whipping another piece of paper off the stack, he handed it to Balin. “This paper is from the Distribution Chronicles. These are the units of food and supplies that are said to be distributed and it’s dated throughout the Fell Winter.” 

Balin looked relieved as he looked at the paper. “This looks like things were distributed equally. I don’t see anything amiss,” he admitted.

Paper rustled as Bilbo brought out another. “I didn’t either until…” he held out the next sheet before continuing. “I cross-referenced it with the Trade Reports.” He began pointing with one childlike finger at the different columns Dís could make out from where she stood. “Here you see the units that were bought or traded for from outside parties. This is dated from _ before _the Fell Winter. There were no more recorded trades once winter set in.”

Balin took the parchment sheet from Bilbo’s hand and scanned it, eyes widening. “Just glancing over it, there’s nearly fifty percent more here!” he exclaimed, at a loss. “How did this happen?”

He wasn’t asking the city lords any more and they all knew it. 

Bilbo tapped the next sheet in his hefty pile. “That’s where the Inventory Intakes come in. Disturbingly, that extra fifty percent you see there is not accounted for. It’s a shoddy cover-up, but the intent is there.”

“There must have been a mix-up with the chroniclers,” Lord Terrence said easily, smiling incredulously. “You can’t simply accuse us with no evidence.”

Dís waited. What the city lord said was true. She could not dig him out of this if he went too deeply without suitable evidence. Why had he not come to her about this? She would have helped him. If he’d been investigating things of this nature, then he was in danger. The city lords wouldn’t want to be exposed, and Lord Bragn was convinced Bilbo had something to do with his son’s disappearance because they’d been in the same tunnels the day of his first audience. 

“Very well then,” Bilbo’s lips curled upwards. “I shall present the written testimonies of eye witness accounts.”

Dís wondered if he had predicted how this conversation would go. He had all his papers in the correct order already so there was no need to shuffle them. He was clear-headed, confident, and unafraid. As angry as she was with him for putting himself at risk, she could not have been prouder of her Bel-flower’s kit. 

“On the nineteenth of Winterfilth, Luik son of Ruik received 16 ration kits, which is rather significant given they were to be provided one kit per person at a time.”

“How can you prove this?” Lord Bragn asked, tone mocking and gaze derisive. 

Dís just could not _ wait _for Bilbo to wipe that smugness off his face. Preferably with the floor. 

“I have witnesses,” he responded easily.

“Oh really?” Lord Terrence sounded bored. “Who?”

Bilbo raised a brow. “Understandably, the witnesses have asked to remain anonymous until the investigation is put to trial. I have about two dozen witnesses willing to provide written testimony associated with this activity. Some witnesses have more than one incident to report on. The connection between all of these incidents was easy enough to find.”

Bilbo, predictably, handed another sheet of paper to Balin, obviously trying to ignore the hovering presence of the guards around them. Dís frowned. Had they gotten closer? 

“That’s all I will present at present, but please understand, there’s more of it to be had,” Bilbo smiled through a thinly veiled threat. 

Dís found herself grateful that she was not on the receiving end of his ire. It was a strange anomaly to see such ancient eyes in someone so young. Sharp. Dís couldn’t get the description out of her head. His gaze seemed like the tip of a sharp sword, poking and digging in wherever he looked. She loved him for it. 

“Is that all you had to waste our time with? Those witnesses you claim to have may not even be reputable. In addition to that, it’s entirely possible that the Trade Records were recorded incorrectly,” Lord Terrence mentioned casually.

Tilting his head to the side, her Shireling did not rise to the bait. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “However I have enough evidence to at least get an official investigation going once I present it to your superiors.” 

Bilbo glanced down and glanced at the top page he was holding, so he missed the look the city lords shared. Dís did not. She shifted so she was closer to Bilbo. 

“Hmmm, what shall I bring up next? I wouldn’t want to take too much of your time away from taking advantage of people with less than you for monetary gain,” he smiled cheerfully, some of his childlike-cheekiness coming out to play. 

Dís figured it was either that or express his anger, but Bilbo needed to look professional and unruffled in this situation. They had already accused him of having a tantrum earlier when he’d expressed how distraught he was. 

_ He is smart to hide behind blitheness, _she thought, looking down at his bouncy curls.

“I have my list here and there are just so many options! What do you think, Lord Balin?” he looked up at the dwarrow, who was still looking askance at the papers given to him, shifting back and forth and back again as though shuffling them around would make the numbers change. “Would you like to hear about Lord Bragn’s illegal side business?” Lord Balin jerked his attention up from the papers and looked at Bilbo, horrified. “What about tax revenue misusage under Lord Terrence’s management? No? I didn’t think so either.” He didn’t give the pale dwarrow the chance to speak. “Right then, murder it is.”

Dís’ breath caught in her throat and her head pounded as the guards shifted uncomfortably around them. “Bilbo, dear,” she finally choked out. “You’re going to make Lord Balin faint. You need him awake for this.”

Bilbo looked chagrined. “Quite right, my apologies, Lord Balin,” he murmured to the dwarrow. “That was quite rude of me.”

“Apology accepted,” he said as was his habit, though his voice was hollow and his eyes were unfocused. 

Bilbo turned back to the city lords who were trying their best to look as relaxed as possible, though the effects were nullified by the tightness around their mouths and in their hands.

Bilbo began pacing back and forth, as was his habit when he lectured people. The fact that he had a habit associated with this would have made Dís laugh at any other time. But the fact that the rulers of Belegost had _ killed _someone and that her little Shireling had dared to investigate it alone was enough to scare her deeply. 

“Hablit son of Astritt was an inspection master. Do you know of him?” Bilbo eyed the lord out of the corner of his eye as he continued his slow, measured pace. 

“His name is not familiar, no.” Lord Terrence replied. 

Dís narrowed her eyes. That hadn’t been what Bilbo had asked. She doubted it escaped either of her companions. 

_ I wonder how much of this interaction Mintears is able to record? _ She wondered. _ I wonder if she is allowed to record the events accurately at all… _

Bilbo hummed. “Interesting response considering you, Lord Terrence, were the last person he inspected a mineshaft for. A coal mine, to be precise. Or at least,” he paused, “it was _ labelled _as a coal mine in the chronicles, but it was easy enough to find out what it really is. But we’ll come back to that.”

Bragn, who had been mostly silent up to this point stood from his throne. “Insolent brat! You don’t know what you’re—”

Bilbo cut Lord Bragn off. “Hablit had a wonderful family. He lived here in Belegost with his husband and son. The Fell Winter was hard on their family, and he was taking work wherever he could get it. Even taking the risk to work for a noble privately.” He paused and turned his body in their direction, never unlocking his eyes from Lord Terrence. “His husband and son begged anyone who would listen to hear their story, you know. No one wanted to get involved. Even when they had evidence.”

Lord Terrence shifted slightly, a frown hidden behind his white beard. “What is this ‘_evidence’ _you speak of?”

The question might have sounded less concerned if it hadn’t been so intense. One might describe it was _ defensive. _

He began pacing again, continuing with his story. “Hablit made a habit of always letting his husband and son know precisely where he would be each given day. He was even more meticulous about this after he started working for a lord he wasn’t allowed to talk about with his family. He was smart. I don’t know if it was by his design or by accident on Hablit’s part, but he forgot to bring the official records of his inspection when he met with you that day in the so-called ‘coal mine’. His husband sent their son to take it to you. He never delivered the papers. Can you guess why Lord Terrence?”

The dwarf’s eyes were a little wild and his brow was shiny with sweat. “Of course I can’t, because you haven’t told me yet!” he snapped. 

“Of course you can’t,” Bilbo repeated with a slight sneer he couldn’t quite hide as he paused a few feet away from the fireplace. The poor Shireling was probably cold. This part of the mountain was cold in particular due to the drafts from the nearby ventilation system. “He arrived in the mine shaft only to witness his father being murdered. Hurled down into the shaft like that, there’s no way he would have survived the fall. Dropped to the bottom, where his body was impaled on a pickax left behind by a miner. Now, I don't know much about crystals, but I must assume that whatever is down there must have been worth a lot fo you to have been willing to commit murder.”

Lord Balin no longer looked like he was going to faint. He was pale as a ghost, bordering on grey. He looked like he was going to vomit. 

“The boy was lying, I never killed Hablit!” Lord Terrence shouted. 

“So you _ do _remember Hablit? How interesting. You may not have killed him with your own hands, but you ordered your men to do it for you. You cannot be acquitted. Not of that crime nor of the crime you committed against his son soon after.”

“Query,” Balin whispered, holding onto his formality for dear life. “What was the crime?”

“He gave Hablit’s son a warning. One he would never forget. He saw his father’s murder, so Lord Terrence ensured he never saw anything again.”

Lord Balin collapsed to his knees on the stone ground. Dís kneeled down beside him and held him up. The dwarrow was distraught and in danger of falling.

“Evidence!” Lord Terrence bellowed. “I demand to see your evidence!”

“You can see it after Lord Balin sees it,” Bilbo said sharply. “I have Hablit’s official records right here. It is why Lord Terrence ordered Hablit’s demise right away.”

Bilbo made to take the few remaining steps towards them, but as soon as he turned in their direction, it happened. Dís wasn’t close enough and not in the right position to stop it. One of the city lord’s guards shoved Bilbo from behind so hard, he went sprawling towards the fireplace. Dís shrieked his name as he nearly went face-first into the flames where the papers had landed.

Dís let out a deafening roar as she released a stunned Balin. The guard tried to back away but Dís was already upon the dwarrow. Hissing, she used one hand to grab him by his long, conveniently rope-like beard and the other to shore it off at his chin with her knife. 

Crying out in victory, she threw the rope of hair to the side and tackled the dwarrow. 

“Your life is forfeit!” she screamed as she pinned him down. Balin finally came to his senses and was trying to pull her off. 

“Princess, princess!” he yelled, a firm grip on the hand that held the blade aloft over her head. “This man has committed a crime in plain sight. A quick death is too good for him. Too honourable! Do not kill him in such a kind way!”

“You’re right,” she growled, stepping up off him and spitting down upon the struggling dwarf. “We should skin him alive and hang him off the city walls where he can either freeze to death or bleed out!” She knew a few dwarrow that might be interested in getting in on a bet on it, too. 

Her rage was still consuming her thoughts, keeping her from thinking clearly. Thank goodness Balin had been there to talk some sense into her. The guard looked terrified. 

_ Good, as he should be. _

A chilling little giggle that she heard turned her blood to ice and cleared her mind. Spinning, she looked at here Bilbo had fallen, now braced on his hands and knees before the fire, watching it burn. 

“Bilbo?” she called softly. 

The muffled laughter was her response as she watched him climb to his feet unsteadily. He looked a bit like a ragdoll, even standing. Somehow it frightened her more. 

“You’ve sealed your fate just now,” he said, mirth evident in his voice as he turned to look at the city lords with big, hollow eyes. 

Dís was horrified to see blood trickling from his mouth. He did not move to wipe it away. Everyone’s attention was on him. 

“The last piece,” he murmured, not needing to raise his voice at all. No one was even breathing. “How obliging that you’d give it to me.”

“It-it was purely accidental,” Lord Terrence stuttered. “_ I _did not push you or attempt to destroy evidence.”

Humming, Bilbo grinned. “Just as you did not _ kill _ Hablit or _ maim _his son?”

“You should be very careful, _kit._” He cautioned darkly. “You do not know the law of the dwarrow.

Bilbo walked forwards, limping and slightly unsteady. Dís wrapped her arms around him and pulled his back to her front so he was well protected. 

_ I should have started the entire damn meeting like this! _She berated herself. 

“It matters not whether you think I know your law or not. What _ does _matter is that the Council of Ered Luin certainly does.”

Lord Bragn spoke up again, managing to retain his haughtiness through this whole affair. “And what good will that do you without your evidence and that report?” he taunted.

Dís leaned over to see Bilbo’s facial expression, curious to see what he would do next. The expression of mock surprise was not what she expected. 

“Oh my, you certainly _ did _ underestimate me if you thought I would bring the originals _ here. _ No, no, no,” he said in a soothing voice. “The _ originals _were sent to the Council of Ered Luin this morning along with a comprehensive list of the names of my witnesses. And besides, even if I lied about everything, they’ll still have to investigate this deeply. Who knows what else they might dig up while they’re at it?”

“Why you little _ runt! _” Lord Bragn bellowed. “Guards! Surround them!”

Dís braced herself for a fight. Right as the three were being closed in on, the double doors swung open and banged loudly against the stone walls. Thorin stood there with Belladonna, Dwalin, and a group of rough-looking dwarrows. 

“What is this?” Lord Terrence stood, furious. “How dare you enter without permission!”

Thorin appeared too enraged to speak. Belladonna did the honours. 

“I would step away from my family if I were you,” she advised, steel lacing her sweet voice. 

Dís nearly melted.

The guards looked towards the city lords only once before bolting to the sidelines. The few that stood loyal to their lords were dealt with easily enough. 

“Brother, how are you here?” Dís croaked, feeling relief and stress in tandem.

“I heard Bilbo asking you to bring Balin as an unbiased witness to meet with the city lords,” he replied as he released the collar of an unconscious dwarf and stepped over his body to reach them. “I knew he would get himself in over his head.”

“Bilbo!” Belladonna cried out, kneeling before him. 

Dís hadn’t realized she was holding her little Shireling’s entire weight from her grip under his arms and around his chest. He had collapsed again. The line of deep red blood from the corner of his mouth was likely not reassuring. 

“What happened?” her lover asked her. 

“Bilbo was attacked when his back was turned and the evidence he brought against the city lords was destroyed. He hit his chin on the floor and probably bit his tongue or cheek hard,” she explained, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt for allowing this to happen to him. Belladonna had entrusted her with him. Trusted her to keep her little kit safe. And Dís had failed her. “The guard who did this to him will pay,” she swore. “I’m going to skin him alive and hang him from the walls outside of Belegost so he can freeze to death. But I’m open to suggestions.”

Thorin growled approvingly. “I’ve got plenty.”

"My king," the dwarrow restraining the City Lords called out. "What shall be done with them?"

“Dwalin, I need you to take these dwarrow with you and escort the city lords to Nogrod. They are too dangerous to have on the loose, that much is clear.”

“I don’t like leavin’ you alone,” he grouched. 

“This is more important. No one will go anywhere alone until you get back. We’ll stay together.”

Dwalin was not happy about it but nodded. 

“Alright then,” Dís sighed, then firmed her voice. “It’s time to have a serious discussion with our Shirelings about some secret’s they’ve been keeping.”

“Secrets?” Belladonna looked honestly confused. 

“Oh, yes,” Thorin growled. “And we won’t be waiting any longer.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Thorin thought he wanted answers about the Before. About who he was to Bilbo and how Bilbo knew him. He never thought he'd regret knowing. Never thought the truth could break him in a way nothing ever had before.
> 
> Special thanks to artimusdin for editing/beta-reading!


	25. In Which Thorin Receives the Answers He Didn't Know He Didn't Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful what you wish for...
> 
> That is a wise proverb.
> 
> Thorin thought he wanted answers about the Before. About who he was to Bilbo and how Bilbo knew him. He never thought he'd regret knowing. Never thought the truth could break him in a way nothing ever had before.

Dís smiled softly at the two Shirelings currently wrapped tightly around each other, each in an exhausted sleep. Her One had tear streaks running from the corners of her eyes and down into her hairline. The knowledge that she’d been silently crying was not comforting to her in the least. 

“How are they doing?” her brother rumbled from where he sat by the hearth across from Belladonna’s chair. 

Dís stepped away from the cracked door and eased it shut, waiting to hear the quiet catch of the latch before turning to Thorin. “Sleeping, finally. They look like Fíli and Kíli did when they were babies,” she told him. “All tangled up in each other until you couldn’t tell one from the other.”

“Speaking of the boys, where are they?”

“Also resting. They were rather distraught when Bilbo came back collapsed again.” She ran a hand through her hair. She was still shaken from what had transpired earlier that day.

Thorin did not smile. “Dís, tell me what you know,” he demanded softly. “I know you’ve been keeping something from me. I can always tell. Does it have something to do with Bilbo being Gifted Twofold?”

It was true, Dís couldn’t hide anything from her brother; nor he from her. They were too close for that. 

Sighing and knowing she couldn’t put it off forever, she lowered herself into Belladonna’s chair. “Last week we had that merchant, do you remember?”

“I do.”

“Well, Mr. Stok and I were chatting about hobbits and their eating habits. Did you know that the average hobbit eats _ seven meals a day? _”

Thorin’s brow furrowed. “How?”

“Apparently their bodies need the food to keep their temperatures up as well as maintain a healthy weight. They burn through it too quickly. According to our friend and Bilbo’s new pet, he is only eating two. I’d be astonished if Belladonna was any different.”

Thorin paled. “Aren’t the rations right now for three meals a day?”

“Yes,” she replied, jaw tight.

“Then where is the other food going?” 

“Apparently, Bilbo’s been giving whatever they don’t use to the Ri family. Their youngest was one of the kits nearly lost last winter.”

Thorin scrubbed a hand through his hair, teeth bared. “And what happens if hobbits don’t eat enough?”

“Apparently their blood sugar drops, they lose most of their body fat, they aren’t able to maintain their high body temperature. Apparently, it’s higher than that of other races. It explains why they have no energy and why Bilbo has been collapsing.”

“Amad?” 

They looked to where Fíli and Kíli stood outside of their bedroom door, looking like they’d just woken up. 

“Is there something wrong with our hobbits?” Kíli asked quietly. 

Dís forgot how young he was sometimes. His wet dark eyes were a testimony to that. She held her arms out for her kits. “Come here.”

Both boys reluctantly came into her arms. They kept insisting they were too old for cuddles now. But she could see just how worried they were. 

“Fí and I think we know what’s the matter.”

“Oh?” she carded her fingers through her youngest’s hair. “Is that so?”

Fíli pulled back and nodded. “Belladonna is always painting green things. We think they need to spend time outside the mountain.”

Thorin settled a hand on his shoulder. “That’s good thinking.”

“Do hobbits need sunlight to survive like plants?” Kíli wondered, eyes growing curious. 

“Maybe,” Fíli nodded, sagely. “It would make sense!”

Dís smiled at her children. “You may have the right idea. What do you all say to a picnic?”

❦

_ He was cold. So cold. He felt like he was in a tunnel, even though he could see that he was in the woods. This place was sick. So sick. He could hear the distance hissing and snarling of creatures of the dark and could see the carcass of a spider the size of Bag End’s entryway. _

_ Just as he wondered who had killed them, Bilbo realized he was not alone. There were elves surrounding their party. Party? Oh yes. The adventure. The dwarves. He couldn’t quite make out their faces, but he saw Thorin and F__íli and Kili._ _Bilbo was watching from outside the circle and trying to breathe quietly. _

_ He didn’t have time to count how many dwarves there were before they were bound. The elves took their weapons and lead them through the sick forest and into a kingdom protected by giant trees. Bilbo followed. _

_ The blond elf that seemed to be in charge walked in the back. He seemed to always tense whenever a sound was made. Bilbo tried to keep in step with him as he followed him. The elf’s tense features did not relax even when he entered the kingdom of trees. Bilbo only barely managed to slip in behind him. _

_ As soon as he entered and was sure that he wasn’t going to be squished between the massive doors, Bilbo looked for the sad elf again. He was nowhere to be found. Just as he made to follow wherever they were taking the dwarves, a sharp point pricked his back. _

_ “Who’s there?” the elf demanded. _

Bilbo let out a shrill cry as he jerked awake, startled and confused. The arms holding him tightened around him and made small soothing sounds. 

“Shhh,” Belladonna hushed. “All is well, you’re right here in my arms surrounded by family.”

Bilbo relaxed into her, sighing with relief. “Another dream,” he swallowed hard. “But it was different. He…he knew I was there, mother!” he shuddered. 

What was his name? It was strange, but Bilbo could only explain it as the _ idea _of the elf being familiar, but not the elf himself. Perhaps Bilbo had only heard of him in the Before?

“He looked…lonely…” Bilbo admitted quietly. “I don’t remember his name.”

Belladonna smoothed his curls away from his forehead. “You will, songbird. You will.” 

“Can I have a turn?” Fíli asked, close to whining. 

Bilbo craned his neck to look at the blond, dutifully holding his arms out for him. Fíli tugged Bilbo into his lap like he was a stuffed animal and sighed. 

“We’re worried,” he said softly. “You are so pale and you don’t weigh anything!”

“I’m well,” he insisted, trying to sit up for himself. “Where are we?”

Fíli let him wit up reluctantly, but kept him in his lap. 

Kíli piped up, smiling at Bilbo. “We’re going on a picnic! We just left the city gates.”

Bilbo jerked and scrambled out of Fíli’s lap. He was looking out of the box wagon before either brother could move. “We’re outside?” his voice was excited, and he already felt a bit better. 

He drew in a deep breath of the fresh air. When he looked back, he expected to see Thorin and Dís there too, but they were absent. 

Frowning, Bilbo asked, “where are Thorin and Lady Dís?”

“Uncle’s talking to the guardsmen station outside,” Fíli explained. 

Kíli picked up his line of thought easily. “And amad is driving the wagon.”

Looking at the conspicuous stack of food boxes in the corner, Bilbo raised his eyebrows. “Are we going to be gone for a week?”

“No, silly,” Kíli laughed at him. “We’re going on a long picnic.”

“Sounds wasteful,” Bilbo murmured, thinking of Nori’s younger brother. 

“Well, talk to amad and irak’adad about it. They’ll be happy to speak with you,” his blond friend grinned. 

Somehow, Bilbo didn’t feel comforted. 

The wagon shifted as Thorin climbed back in and the wagon started moving again. When his eye alighted on Bilbo, they warmed. “You’re looking better already,” he rumbled.

“Do hobbits need fresh air and sunlight to survive?” Kíli interrupted whatever Bilbo had been about to say.

Shrugging, he replied, “Don’t all living creatures need light?”

“Dwarves don’t,” disagreed Thorin. “A dwarf could probably spend their entire life only seeing light born of fire and gems and never complain or fall ill.”

Bilbo could feel that his eyes were as wide as his mother’s. 

“Truly?” she asked, shocked. “I can’t imagine that.”

Bilbo looked at his mother before he saw Thorin’s face darken. “I would be so depressed if I never saw the sun or touched the grass and dirt.”

As if to punctuate his point, Bilbo stuck his head out the flaps of the box wagon and sucked in a big breath of fresh late autumn air. When he pulled himself back in, he was surprised to see Thorin glaring at him fiercely. 

“If that’s the case, then why, in the name of all the Valar would you not tell us you needed it to survive?” What started out as a growl had turned into yelling by the time he’d reached the end of his question. 

The wagon stopped abruptly.

“Told you he was a plant,” Kíli whispered to Fíli. 

Fíli nodded sagely. 

“You’ve been wasting away down in the mountain and we’ve been racking our brains trying to figure out why!” 

Bilbo winced. “I guess I didn’t think it was all that important,” he admitted. 

“Alright, everyone. Out of the wagon. I guess here’s as good a spot as any for a picnic,” Dís ordered in a no-nonsense tone. “Now what’s all the yelling about?”

Her sons were quick to fill her in. Albeit with a little more hand movements and over-exaggerated voices. 

“I’ll be uncle,” Kíli whispered loudly before he launched in with the lowest voice he could muster. He squished his chin against his chest as though that would help. “Are you like a plant, Bilbo?”

Fíli was sitting on his knees, looking up at his brother with huge eyes. “Yes,” he squeaked. “I need sunlight and dirt and stuff to survive. I am a plant.”

Kíli balled his fist and twisted his face into something he must have thought resembled a snarl. “You can’t grow in the mountain! Why didn’t you tell me you were a plant?” he yelled as loud as he could while maintaining the ridiculous voice. 

Bilbo was giggling so hard he started snorting, Dís was valiantly trying to hold her scolding face, and Belladonna had to turn away, but no one could miss her shaking shoulders. Thorin stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking menacing. 

Kíli, bolstered by the positive reaction, began again with renewed vigour. He loomed over Fíli and bellowed. “I’m yelling because I’m worried!”

Thorin’s scowl darkened.

Fíli shuffled on his knees until he was turned away from Kíli so he couldn’t see his face but their audience could. “I’m perfectly fine and I would rather gnaw off one of my toes than admit that I’m not fine.”

“Oi!” Bilbo stopped laughing to frown and protest. “That’s entirely untrue!” 

Thorin harrumphed. 

Belladonna was laughing loudly and brightly, doubled over from the pain of laughing too hard for too long. “No it’s not!” she wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes before a fresh wave of laughter hit her and Dís had to support her weight to keep her from falling face-first into the ground. 

Fíli wasn’t finished. But instead of addressing Kíli again, he glared at Bilbo. “And even though hobbits need seven meals a day, I only eat two!”

Bilbo stilled and looked away so no one could see his face. 

“Spot on acting, Fíli,” his younger brother congratulated. “You did it just like that!”

Fíli smiled proudly, “why thank you, dear brother,” he bowed with exaggeration. "I thought your yelling and snarling was particularly accurate as well!”

“We should be professionals.”

“We _ are _professionals,” the blond corrected regally. 

Kíli nodded sagely. “Good point.”

Belladonna had stopped laughing as well. She avoided eye contact as she gently stepped away from Dís and wrapped an arm around her child, twisted back and forth as she held him. 

“Boys, go get the food from the wagon.” Dís instructed gently. 

They didn’t look happy about it, but they did as they were asked. 

To Dís’ surprise, her brother crouched next to Bilbo and buried one of his huge hands in the boy’s curls. 

“Bilbo,” he said gently. “They were right you know.”

Bilbo reluctantly turned his head so he was facing Thorin, but never stopped hugging Belladonna tightly. “About what?”

“Me,” he admitted. “I’m not mad. I’m worried. And that makes me mad.”

Bilbo’s mouth twitched. “So you are mad?”

“Why didn’t you _ tell _us?” he entreated the young hobbit with his eyes.

Bilbo swallowed several times before answering. “The surface answer is that we didn’t want to bother you.”

“Is there another answer?” Dís asked. 

Belladonna nodded. “It has to do with the Fell Winter,” she sighed at the admission. “The claw marks aren’t the only scars we bear from it. You just can’t see the other ones.”

Bilbo agreed. The ones inside _ were _harder than the ones on the outside. Inside he was afraid of seeing snow again. He was afraid that with that sheet of white would come red and black. He was afraid that he would be hungry again. But if he didn’t know what it was like to feel full, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so badly. He was afraid that he didn’t deserve to eat when his father wasn’t there to eat with them anymore. He was afraid of being too small and weak to defend himself. 

At night when he closed his eyes, he would remember the wolves that would sniff and dig around the window above his bed. They knew he was there. They were just waiting to find a way in. He could never sleep because he could still hear the heavy panting, growling, and the sound of their claws digging into the dirt and scraping against the side of the house. 

If he fell asleep would that continue? Would he hear his mother ordering his father to use the heirloom furniture as a barricade? Would it go even further? Would he dream about the last sound his father made? A choked sort of gasp? Or maybe Bilbo would dream about the terrible screaming that came before that.

Laying a hand on Thorin’s arm he stared at where he knew Thorin’s beard must have been at one time before he had shorn it off. “Do you remember Thorin?” he whispered. “Do you remember the sounds of their deaths?”

The dwarf’s breath caught. 

“Do they follow you into sleep and ridicule you?” he shuddered. “Can you hear it coming? Feel your hair stand on end?”

“Yes,” he responded, sounding slightly broken. 

Thorin’s heart withered a bit when Bilbo’s faraway eyes finally met his, looking haunted. 

“When you sleep do you dream about what you could have done? As if anything could have been different? Do you tell yourself lies that make the truth easier to think about?”

Thorin didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Do you let everyone judge you? Listen to their whispers about you as you pass them by? Hear their anger and suspicion and hatred? I bet you don’t stop it either.”

“I don’t.”

“I don’t sleep, Thorin. I don’t eat because I’m afraid of feeling hunger again. And…and I don’t ask for help because I don’t feel like I deserve it.”

Thorin knew in that moment _exactly_ why Mahal had matched him with this hobbit. They were the same. Just two parts of the same soul. They were so different from each other in so many ways but their hearts were identical. Bilbo’s small hands were tight on his biceps. 

“We’re afraid,” he told Thorin. “And that’s why you’re angry and why I’m alone.”

Belladonna was quietly weeping into Dís’ shoulder, unable to keep the tears from falling. 

“You’re not alone, Bilbo,” Thorin whispered, wanting to pull him into his embrace but being unable to because he couldn’t bring himself to break eye contact with the creature in front of him who looked so young and vulnerable, but withered and ancient at the same time. 

He tilted his head to the side slightly. “Not right now. But it’s my fate, I think. It’s happened four times before, and it will happen many more times before I am finished with this version of me.”

He felt so out of reach at that moment. Like some sort of ghost that his hands might pass right through. 

“Four?” Belladonna questioned sharply. “When? Who?”

Bilbo smiled up at his mother with a sad, adoring smile. “Maybe more. But it’s hard to count.” In a rare moment of openness, he began listing them. “In the Before, you died with father,” he told her. “When I was fifty, I was banished from a loved one’s home and presence. They died later that year, along with two others I was close to. That was the Before. I was abandoned by father when he withdrew his heart from me long before he died. The reason I came here was because I believe that the Shire is making plans to exile me. I do not want to be abandoned again, so I abandoned it instead.”

Belladonna collapsed next to her son and held him tightly, sobbing on his shoulder. He held her back, but his face remained quiet and introspective. 

“So you are afraid of being abandoned if you ask for things?” Dís clarified gently. 

Bilbo nodded, bringing a hand up to wipe his eyes. “I don’t want to be abandoned again.”

Thorin felt a hand of ice grip his heart. There was something off about that sentence. He’d said it before, but Thorin felt it had a deeper meaning. _ ‘I don’t want to be abandoned by you again.’ _That’s what it sounded like. 

From Bilbo’s previous reactions, Thorin knew Bilbo likely knew him personally in the Before, but he had not been able to wheedle any information about the future out of the boy yet. 

“Me?” he gasped, as the realisation hit him. “Why?”

Bilbo shuddered, face scrunching. “You went mad because of cursed gold and a stupid rock,” he dashed his tears away more violently now. “And then you started caring more about that vile thing than you did about the people who helped you reclaim your home!”

_The Arkenstone..._

“What did I do?” he whispered, barely moving his lips. 

Bilbo trembled a little bit, all tense. “Gandalf stopped you. I found another way down.”

_ Oh god, _ Thorin’s knees went weak and he fell hard on them. _ I tried to kill my One by throwing him from the walls of Erebor! _He knew it as assuredly as if it had been printed as a memory on his soul. 

He could picture it so clearly. Bilbo, shoved up against the wall, and him with his eyes glazed over with gold sickness, snarling viciously at the hobbit for stealing the Arkenstone. Though in his mind he only saw the little faunt, eyes wide with terror. Bilbo wouldn’t beg to be released. Thorin knew that much. Not the Bilbo he knew. This Bilbo would sooner allow himself to fall to his death than ask to be released. If he couldn’t do it himself he wouldn’t do it at all. If Thorin had succeeded, then Bilbo would have tipped over the heavy stone wall. Down, down, down… and then he’d crumple at the bottom, the sound of a sack of rubbish landing on the stone beneath the wall. 

The thought was paralyzing. The sound that broke out in the still air around him surprised him. But more than that, that the sound had come from him. A broken sob. 

What had he _ done? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Thorin learns the extent of his sins and pleads for forgiveness from his family. But Bilbo's secrets won't be the only ones shared between himself and Bilbo that evening.


	26. In Which they Pledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin learns the extent of his sins and pleads for forgiveness from his family. But Bilbo's secrets won't be the only ones shared between himself and Bilbo that evening.

Thorin clutched at his pounding head. The ground beneath his thick trousers had given slightly under his weight, and part of him wished he could simply dig in deeper until he was buried beneath it. But he didn’t think all the soil on middle earth would be enough to cover his shame. 

Had he truly done that? Had he really tried to kill his One?

It seemed impossible with the way he felt about the hobbit after knowing him for just two months! All he wanted to do was shield him from every bad thing in this unforgiving world and give him everything he could ever dream of having. Never mind that Bilbo would get everything for himself. That didn’t matter. What _ mattered _ was that Thorin could give it to him; _ wanted _to give it to him… 

But if this was true…

Thorin dropped his hands and looked up at Bilbo, knowing his face was stricken with horror and grief and remorse. Bilbo’s head was blocking out the setting sun, making his guileless features appear dark. 

Bilbo smiled sadly. “That’s why you can’t back go to Erebor in the future, Thorin. If you do, I’m afraid that you’ll become the _ other _Thorin and be led to do horrific things. Fíli and Kíli died. The other you followed behind them not an hour later. He died in my arms.”

The news caused him to shake violently. When he was finally able to respond, the only thing capable of passing through his suddenly dry lips was a hoarse whisper. “My nephews? Both of them?” It was the only thing he could say. He'd obvious deserved whatever death had met this 'other' Thorin, but his nephews? How could he had ever thought to put them in such risk?

Both boys had returned from the wagon and had been listening, though for how long, Thorin didn’t know. Long enough judging by the way they were staring at each other, as though they couldn’t quite believe that was possible. When they moved closer to lean on each other for comfort, he looked away. He couldn't bear to look in his sister's direction for fear of meeting either her eyes or the piercing eyes of her One. Thorin’s entire body felt like it was about to fall apart into pieces. His chest hurt and his fingers were tingling. He knew this was a panic attack, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

“Oh, Mahal, what have I done?” he rasped in despair, but he couldn’t unlock his eyes from Bilbo’s.

“Nothing, yet.”

And that's all it took for Thorin to understand what Bilbo was telling him—what he was _ asking _ him. Dís, surprisingly, came to his side and helped him up out of the dirt. As he rose, the sun peeked over the hobbit's head once again, making him appear less shrouded and more alive. Thorin would have thought she wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him after the news they'd just heard. He wished he could look into her face to see what she was thinking, but he couldn’t look away from Bilbo. His hobbit’s eyes were filled with anxiety and hope. There was no malice. There was no hatred or disgust or even anger. There was only determination and—dare he say— _ love _ in his expression. 

As he stood before his One, he uttered his oath under the dying sun, letting his dreams of the emerald halls fade with the remaining light. “I will never quest for Erebor.”

The words wrung with finality. He felt them like they were seared directly onto his heart. He couldn’t decide if he felt heavier or lighter for this revelation. 

Bilbo took in one heaving breath. Then another. And another. And then he launched himself into Thorin’s arms, his small body wracking with sobs, “thank you! Oh thank you!” he gasped. 

Thorin clutched him tightly. 

“I’m so sorry, Bilbo, I’m so sorry,” he buried his face in the hobbit’s curls, desperately trying to hold back tears. He pressed a hard kiss on top of his head and then pressed his cheek where his lips had just been. “I do not know how such crimes could be forgiven, but I would do anything to make it up to you. I would _ give _anything.” 

_ Even my birthright…even my home… _

“Just live, Thorin! Please live. That’s all I want. I never wanted that stupid rock or that blasted gold. I only ever wanted you!”

The words were like an arrow to his chest. They made it race with an emotion he couldn’t describe, but one that had his heart in his throat and his head feeling dizzy. What had they been in the Before? They must have been lovers...did that mean Bilbo already knew about Thorin being his One? He hadn’t said anything! Nor had he requested beads...beads Thorin had been carrying around for the better part of a month.

Lowering Bilbo to the ground, he looked at Dís. She was glaring at her sons. That surprised Thorin. “Sister, I—” he was cut off when she disengaged from the quiet Belladonna to rail at her sons. 

“You left your mother behind in Belegost?” she yelled indignantly. “I _ know _I didn’t go with you, otherwise I would have died there too!” Whipping around to Bilbo, she demanded, “Bilbo, did I die with my family?”

Blinking, he replied, “no.”

“You see? He said I didn’t go!” she cried, burrowing her face into Belladonna’s shoulder, and not giving her children the chance to respond.

Belladonna patted her back and comforted her. “I’m sure you were living honourably. It must have been hard to let them all leave without you.”

Thorin hadn’t thought of that. He turned to his sister-sons and knelt down so they were at eye level. Bilbo was still nestled against his shoulder, feeling small and fragile in Thorin's large hands. Taking turns resting his free hand on each of their heads, he spoke.

“I’m so sorry, boys,” he murmured. 

They looked at him like he’d just grown a second head.

Fíli scoffed. “As if we would have let you go off on that adventure without us!”

Kíli nodded. “I probably died because I got angry that Fí did. It’s not your fault.”

Bilbo pressed his face into his shoulder, trembling slightly. That was answer enough to verify.

Thorin hugged them to him. “I will never endanger you two like that,” he swore. 

“Is there something wrong with Uncle?” Kíli whispered loudly. 

“Must be,” Fí returned, conspiratorially. “He’s showing an emotion other than ‘brooding.’”

Thorin grumbled and touseled the youngest's hair affectionately before he stood. He still had a very important question to ask Bilbo. It wouldn’t be easy, but if he’d learned anything today, it was that asking the hardest questions would result in receiving the most important of answers. 

“Bilbo,” he turned, feeling determined. “What were we in the Before?”

Brows raised he answered. “You were still a dwarf and I was still a hobbit.”

Thorin grunted. Bilbo’s naivete wouldn’t make this easy. He looked over to Dís and Belladonna. Dís’ face said she was holding back a laugh. Belladonna’s said he’d better not corrupt her son. 

He tried again. Maybe if he asked in a roundabout way. “How did you come to be a part of this endeavour?”

Surely, if Thorin had known Bilbo was his One, he never would have allowed him to join the quest, that much was a given, right?

Bilbo sighed. “Gandalf the Grey wanted to make me part of an adventure,” he wrinkled his nose as he said this. 

He would have thought Bilbo disliked the thought if not for the fact that Thorin had noted he had the habit of wrinkling his nose just like that whenever he was remembering something. 

“And I said _ ‘no’_, and he vandalized my house!” Bilbo said indignantly, turning to his mother. “Can you believe that, mother? Not a week after I’d had the door painted, Gandalf scratched it with some rune or other saying I was a burglar!”

Belladonna nodded sympathetically. “Gandalf does not understand the concept of a permanent home that one takes pride in. I believe he’s travelling all the time. I often find myself wondering where he is at any given moment.”

“Gondor, as of a month ago according to my letters, but that’s neither here nor there because you know what happened next, mother?” he asked, his body strained to look in her direction. Thorin couldn't quite find it in him to release him yet from the firm grasp he had on him.

“What happened, songbird?”

They were getting off track, but there was little Thorin could do short of rudely interrupting. He knew better than that now.

“Dwarves started showing up at my home looking for food that night and I was in my dressing gown!” he exclaimed. “There were _ thirteen _ and they ate my _ entire _primary pantry’s stock without so much as an hours worth of warning! Thank goodness they didn't find the others. And Kíli scraped his muddy boots on your glory box and Fíli started throwing your westfarthing pottery,” he divulged, smirking just a bit. 

The boys groaned. “We haven’t even _ done _any of those things yet!” Kíli protested. 

Fíli was quick to add, “Is this because we stole your letters yesterday? You needed a break!”

“And I won’t tell you what _ Thorin _did because he’s suffered enough for today, but—”

Dís leaned forwards eagerly and Thorin groaned, praying for fortitude and patience. “What did my brother do?”

“Well, since you’ve convinced me,” Bilbo started, not sounding like he needed much convincing at all. Thoring wanted to groan. Either that or bury himself in a mine somewhere. “He comes in all brooding and surly and does not so much as say hello or ask my name! He just complained that my house was hard to find and proceeded to walk in circles around me and speak down to me.” 

Thorin was starting to wonder if he could bury himself alive. “Mahal, I’m the stupidest idiot alive,” he ran a hand down his face. 

Dís snorted. “Yeh, the King of them, I’d say.”

Thorin needed them to get back on topic. “Did we become friends?”

Bilbo nodded. “I like to think so. Eventually.”

“How did that happen?” Fíli snorted. 

“Well, I threw myself into battle to protect your Uncle when he was struck down by a really large orc. Then I got a hug,” he replied, trying for all the world, it seemed, not to sound proud. 

“Friends, that’s good,” Thorin coughed and cleared his throat. 

“That’s not what I mean,” Fíli said flatly. “I meant ‘what did Uncle do for you to forgive him’?”

Thorin could have smacked the boy over the head; things had been going so well.

Bilbo shrugged. “I was more irritated by him and anything else. Honestly,” he huffed and looking up at the sky like Thorin was just too much. But since his little fingers were sitll tangled in his hair and playing with his braids, Thorin thought that perhaps he wasn't all that irritated. Did Bilbo even realize that he was doing it? Playing with a dwarf's hair was not done lightly.

Kíli had been staring at him for a while, and that made Thorin nervous. Did he realize what he was trying to ask? That made his cheeks heat in embarrassment. When Kíli’s face took on an expressed of dawning understanding, Thorin glared fiercely at his nephew, praying he'd understand the silent warning. Unclipping his water pouch from his belt, Thorin took a swig to soothe his dry throat. _ He knew. _

And then his nephew asked the most horrible question. “Bilbo were you and Uncle in love in the Before?” 

Water sprayed from Thorin’s mouth and landed on the ground. His gaze snapped to Bilbo. Bilbo was looking at Kíli in surprise. Then he laughed. 

“Thorin was a King, Kíli!” he snorted. “And I came rather short of that, I’m afraid. Both in station and in personality, unfortunately. I didn't have a royal bone in my body. Not to mention he wasn’t terribly fond of me.”

“Wow,” Belladonna drew out.

“That’s incredible, brother.” Dís congratulated. “Not sure how you did that, but it truly is amazing.”

After biting out a few rude words to quiet his sister in Khuzdul, Thorin turned back to Bilbo. “There’s no possible way I wasn’t fond of you,” he said firmly. 

He tilted his head, letting his exotic curls shift and bounce. “You think so?” he smiled brightly. 

Thorin’s heart stopped. He’d never been more certain that Bilbo was Mahal’s gift to him. “I know so. And if I didn’t, it was probably because I liked you too much.”

“Why? How can you be so sure?” he squinted.

Thorin sucked in a breath. _ I suppose it’s now or never, _he thought, closing his eyes for a brief moment and praying for strength. “I know because you are my One.”

“One? I don’t remember that word. Maybe it’s another hole. Could you tell me what that means, Thorin?” he asked politely, letting go of Thorin's hair and folding his hands primly on his lap. 

_ Didn't have a royal bone in his body my foot, _he thought. Swallowing, he answered in a voice that was less steady than he would have liked. “A One is the other half of your soul. It’s your soulmate. The one who is your equal and your opposite at the same time. Mahal gives every one of his children One. That is who you are to me.”

As his explanation went on, Bilbo’s eyes grew wider. “Like-like-like the best of friends?” he squeaked, tripping over his words. 

“Yes, that’s one way to love a person,” he agreed, smiling and breathing a little easier. He laid a hand on Bilbo’s golden curls and stuck his fingers in the ringlets. They really were fascinating. “But you don’t have to think about any of that right now. When you’re older, we can talk about it more.”

“Is…” he bit his lip and glanced at his mother and Dís. “Is it like Mother and Lady Dís?”

_ Alright, so we’re having this conversation now. I don’t deserve to ask anything of him. I need to redeem myself. _“It can be if that’s what you want it to become,” he answered carefully. 

Bilbo frowned. “You don’t want that?” he asked, sharply. 

“I didn’t say that!”

“Then why are you being so careful?” the hobbit demanded. “Why aren’t you telling me what _ you _want too?”

Untangling his fingers from the curls, he ran a hand through his own hair and sighed. “Because you're young and I don’t deserve to expect anything at all from you, Bilbo. Not after everything I did to you.”

“_You_ haven’t done anything yet! And you already promised it would never happen! I don’t need any more atonement than that.” Bilbo wriggled until Thorin set him down. Thorin did so reluctantly, trying not to feel a little twinge of hurt at the distance because that was ridiculous. 

“What I did was unforgivable!”

Bilbo glared and pointed at him menacingly from far below him. “You mean you can’t forgive _yourself._” He accused. “And you’re going to wallow and brood! But you'll just have to come to terms with the fact that everyone has as much potential for bad as they do good. I won't be letting that get in the way, no I will not!”

“In the way of what?” Thorin barked. “You have to tell me what you’ll want when you’re older because even though you have memories of the Before, you are very much still a youngling.”

Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest. “Young!” he scoffed. “I’ll have you know I’ll be one hundred and forty-four by in less than a month!”

“You’ll be thirteen,” his mother said firmly. “Thorin is absolutely correct, songbird. Your mind, your spirit, and your body are all still too young.”

“Young for what—” and then he got it and flushed scarlet. 

Thorin turned away, folding his hands behind his back. _ This cannot have been more awkward, _he thought, his own face growing red again.

The little hand that grabbed onto his coat surprised him enough to look over his shoulder and down. Bilbo was looking away and blushing, but he had a stubborn little pout on his face as he said, “I might be too young for _that _sort of thing, but I’m not too young to stake my territory,” he muttered, mulishly. “Someone will try and catch your eye and they’ll have a nice beard and wear shoes and then where would I be?”

Thorin scoffed. As if that could ever happen. His heart had been stolen and was now being kept safe by a little hobbit who would grow into a bewitching adult hobbit someday and then he wouldn’t ever be able to get two seconds to himself because Thorin would be utterly besotted. 

“Mother has beads,” he whispered. “Where are mine?”

Thorin froze. So did everyone else. 

“Bilbo,” Thorin turned, the motion forcing Bilbo to release his coat. “Beads mean very specific things. If I give you any beads, it will be like an unbreakable promise in the eyes of all the dwarrow.”

His face lit up. “Everyone will know?”

He nodded. “Just by looking at you,” he replied seriously. “Which is why I want you to think very carefully about it before you make your decision. It doesn’t have to be right now.”

“I want it to be.” 

“Bilbo,” he groaned. The hobbit was killing him. “It’s a _ life _pledge, my little One. You can’t just decide you want it and then take it!”

“Oh no,” he corrected. “I would never take it. You’ll be giving them to me. I want them in my hair.”

Thorin looked at his stubborn hobbit's mother and his own sister for help. They both smiled at him and were no help at all. When he looked toward his nephews, they each held a fist up in encouragement with matching grins. Also no help. 

“You have to have a reason why. I would never want to have a relationship with anyone else because I know who my One is. You don’t have to worry about me being stolen away. The idea is repulsive to me.”

Bilbo regarded him for a moment. “Then how about this for a reason why: I spent the majority of my life alone and regretting that I couldn’t save you because I always wanted to stay with you. I wished I could have died for you. I was so lonely. For the longest time, I never loved anything or married, and now I know why. I loved you, whether I knew it or not. But I love the you in the here and now too. You care about people so passionately. You always have fire in your eyes and determination in here.”

Bilbo put his little pointer finger against Thorin’s chest. 

“And I know I’m little now, and it’s a lot to ask you to wait for someone who will grow up with no beard or shoes with hairy feet that must be strange to you but—”

Thorin cut off his rambling when he hugged him. Bilbo always showed his nervousness by rambling on with self-depreciation and he wouldn’t have it after such wonderful words. After all he had done…after all Bilbo had been through because of him...he _ still _chose Thorin. How could Thorin not choose him in return? 

“I chose you,” he pressed a kiss to his soft nest of curls again and then let him go. “I chose you and I don’t care about all the things you think you don’t have because we both know _ I _am the unworthy one.”

Bilbo made to open his mouth in protest, but it clopped shut with Thorin pulled the pouch of beads out of an inner pocket next to his heart. 

“And I will give you one bead today because I never want you to doubt my sincerity. I will be patient to put the rest of the beads in your hair. But for now, this is my family’s crest. It holds my name. And I will give it to you because you hold my heart.”

Bilbo was standing stock-still, eyes locked on the bag. He started rocking back and forth with excitement when Thorin finally fished out the right one.

“When you grow your hair out, the bead will rest over your left breast over your heart,” Thorin explained as he began weaving his hair. When the plait was finished, he clipped the gold bead onto it. It shone brightly in the setting sun, looking for all the world like it had always been meant to sit in that nest of gold and copper ringlets.

“Then I will grow it out for you, as a sign of _ my _sincerity,” Bilbo responded seriously, but with a smile on his face that lit him up from the inside. “And I will be patient too.”

Thorin smiled softly. Good things were ahead. Bright days and with the family he loved and a One that would grow into someone he would cherish and adore in any capacity he would have him in. As long as they were side by side, Thorin couldn’t find it in him to care. 

It was already decided. Thorin would never again think of reclaiming their homeland. It was lost to them and lost forever. But he had found his place among his family. So had the other dwarrow that had fled Erebor that day. It was time to start looking towards the future and stop hanging on to the past. He couldn’t look back forever. For some reason, the thought had him fighting to look over his shoulder. He felt as though someone was watching them. But when he looked back towards the mountain, the only thing he could see was the last sliver of sun before it dipped over the mountain. No one was there. 

It must have been paranoia. 

There was nothing here that could stop him from taking his future into his own hands. No dragons, nothing to hand over his head any longer, and nothing standing between him and the future he was imagining for all of them. 

It must have been paranoia… 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, the Line of Durin and the Shirelings function as a solid family unit as Belegost begins to find its footing again in the shaky political climate. Belegost is making changes, but their family is making plans that don't involve staying in Belegost...


	27. In Which They Experience the Joys of Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Line of Durin and the Shirelings function as a solid family unit as Belegost begins to find its footing again in the shaky political climate. Belegost is making changes, but their family is making plans that don't involve staying in Belegost...

“What do you think?” Thorin asked, spreading his hands over the map to flatten it against the stone table once more.

Bilbo stood next to him, studying it intently. The map was of the Ered Luin Range. Thorin was pointing at than area to the north where a valley lay, guarded by mountains. They had been examining the maps and drawing up ideas for the past two hours. Thorin was building them a home. With the stamp of each one of them on it. 

Smiling, he nodded. “It’s perfect. Very defensible,” he replied approvingly. “There’s a slim valley leading to the northlands, so we’ll need to make sure that it’s well guarded, but if all goes well, we could build a road here,” he ran his finger southwards. “We can establish set trade routes so it’s easy to get supplies there in any season.”

Dís wrapped an arm around her One’s waist and leaned heavily. “That’s a wonderful idea. But a road will take a long time to construct,” she reminded them.

“What if instead of laying stone bricks and mortar, we use something else?” Belladonna suggested. “In the shire, dirt roads are perfectly capable for our needs.”

“Mmm,” Fíli hummed, non-committally from where he was draped over his brother’s back to look at the map. “But we need to be able to cart heavy stones and ore on this road. It will be heavier than what you hobbits would be moving around. Plus the north is cold and can be wet. The roads might wash away.”

"Heavy," Kíli grumbled and unsuccessfully tried to shift his lazing brother off him. Bilbo wasn't sure if he was talking about the carts his brother was talking about or the weight on his back. 

“What about gravel? It could be a temporary solution. You’re already planning on digging into the mountains to make this place,” Bilbo suggested. “There’s bound to be plenty of material for it. Cobblestone can be added after the city is established.”

“You might have the right idea, laddie,” Dwalin nodded from where he stood beside Thorin. 

Thorin’s smile was broad and proud. “Of course he does.”

Bilbo nearly preened under the praise. What better compliment to give him than one for his mind? 

“What shall we call it?” Belladonna asked as she scribbled down some sketches on a sheet of parchment.”

“Hometown?” Fíli suggested.

Dís added her idea next. “Refuge.”

Kíli pushed up so his brother wasn’t draped over him any longer. “What about Thorin’s Halls? Uncle's the one building it after all.” 

And that had been the end of that. 

Bilbo had found over the past week that hope was a powerful catalyst for change. It seemed to him that between Belegost’s changing political climate and their plans for Thorin’s Halls that they should be busy. Unendingly so. He had feared, at first, that it would mean spending time with each other would fall to the background. Yet it never did. Nothing seemed to come above their family. They were a unit and acted as one. Bilbo had never felt such a connection in all his life. Or perhaps it was lives…

Bilbo’s favourite times were those that dripped with mundanity. For example, mornings were hectic. Garments, belts, combs, and weapons were thrown back and forth across their quarters as they took turns dressing and having their hair braided. Mealtimes could be hasty, but no less filled with light and laughter shared between them. Sometimes, Bilbo would look at his family and be convinced that the sun itself could not shine as brightly as their smiles. 

For all the sorrow there was at letting go of their dreams of reclaiming Erebor, there was also joy and a sense of weightlessness. They could go wherever they chose; live their lives however they wished! It was a heady feeling.

Bilbo and his mother spent much of their time out of the mountain in the fresh air now. With Fíli and Kíli tagging along more frequently than not. Dís and Thorin would have loved to join but with Dis’ temporary position as acting city lord and Thorin’s plans to create a kingdom for their family and their fellow survivor’s of Erebor, they couldn’t spare the hours. 

So Bilbo treasured the busy mornings and the light-hearted evenings, even if he knew that he, Dís, and Thorin would likely spend much of their sleeping hours working on their respective duties. 

As for Bilbo’s business, he had promoted Mr. Stok to the region manager. If he ever were to lose contact with the man, his instructions were to carry on with the business as he always had until Bilbo was able to make contact again. Letters were not unknown to get lost or stolen, and with all the feathers Bilbo was ruffling in Ered Luin, it was bound to happen. It made him feel more secure knowing that the guild would not be in danger if something were to happen to him. 

Everything should seem settled. The city lords had been dealt with and were under a full Council investigation now. From the reports Nori had been sending to him, it seemed they’d unearthed something Bilbo hadn’t discovered. Apparently, Lord Bragn had been involved in slave trading, which had been outlawed hundreds of years ago by the free peoples. 

As for Lord Terrence, he had been proven guilty of the murder of Hablit, son of Astritt and the mutilation of his son, Anglit. His wealth had been given to Hablit’s husband and son, as well as his mansion in Belegost. Bilbo had written to the Council immediately after hearing of these reports, requesting that provisions be made for Anglit that he might be given the opportunity to learn a craft he could do without his eyesight. He knew enough about dwarves to know their craft meant everything to them. A craft was just as important as their pride. And pride, as Bilbo understood it, was priceless to the dwarrow. Bilbo had suggested a position where the young dwarf could make use of his stone sense, though, he wasn't sure how much help the suggestion was. Dwarrows' occupations were so vastly different than those of the Shire's. 

With the city lords taken from their chairs on the Council, many dwarrow found themselves shifted around and promoted to new positions, often with Dís enjoying the privilege of informing them. Fí, Kí, Bilbo, and his mother would often tag along. This time, they were headed to Glóin's home to speak with him about his impending promotion. He had been looking forwards to meeting another one of the company! However, his excitement was quickly squashed. Lady Dís and his mother would not let him partake in the conversation this time. 

“Why?” he scowled. “I want to hear about Belegost’s financial state and the current affairs of its accounting!”

Belladonna scrubbed her hand over his curls and chuckled. “Stop whining and go play, Bilbo.”

“We’ll see you soon,” promised Dís as she gently pushed Bilbo back from where he was wedged in the door.

Stubbornly, Bilbo put his little hand on the door frame before they could close the door. “Do you promise you’ll tell me all about it later?”

Dís scoffed. “You’d have better luck asking Mahal to reawaken Durin before his time. Now shoo! Go play with your new cousin.”

Bilbo grumbled but withdrew his fingers from the door jam and tried to smooth his now frizzy hair back into neat, bouncy ringlets. He could always have Nori get the information for him. It kept the thief/spy out of trouble and kept Bilbo abreast of the goings-on. He had a feeling the reason why Dís didn’t want Bilbo to get involved with politics anymore had more to do with his safety than any annoyance over any changes.

“Come on, Bilbo,” Fíli held out his hand to him. “Let’s go see Gimli.”

Bilbo took Fíli’s hand and allowed himself to be towed through the house and into an entertainment room. The soft glow from a crystal caught his attention immediately. 

“What is that?” he gasped, releasing Fíli’s hand and running up to the origin of the bluish-light. 

“It’s a light-crystal,” said a red-headed kit from where he sat on a comfortable sofa. 

“What makes it glow? Is there a candle in there? I don’t see a flicker.”

Kíli sighed. “Leave it to Bilbo to make something so beautiful so boring.”

“Oi!” he opened his mouth to give the young dwarf a stern lecture, only to remember his manners at the last minute. He looked over at the other occupant in the room sheepishly. “Ah, I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. I am Bilbo, son of Belladonna Took.”

The dwarfling, who had fluffy looking sideburns and a big grin replied, “I am Gimli, son of Glóin.”

“A pleasure,” he smiled. 

_ Gl__óin…where have I heard that name before? _ He wondered to himself. He was almost positive it had to do with the Before. _ Glóin who could speak of his wife and son for hours on the road...yes! That’s it. He was one of the company. And Gimli… _

“OH!” he smacked his forehead, causing Gimli to jerk back a little at the unexpected movement. “_ Gimli_, yes I remember now! Quite an honour to meet you,” Bilbo smiled warmly at the dwarf. 

Bilbo wondered idly if Legolas would have been jealous that he got to see Gimli as a young kit. He certainly wasn’t as surly as Bilbo remembered Frodo hearing tales of. 

“Yes, fierce, fiery-tempered, loyal and good Gimli. Yes, I remember clearly now. Merry and Pippin told me all about you once you all returned.” Bilbo murmured quietly to himself, smiling at the light-crystal and silently thanking the dwarf for protecting his nephew. _ Frodo. Bright blue eyes. Everything good and right with the world. _Eyes that had turned to gray upon his return...

Gimli was quite red when Bilbo turned back to him. “What?” Bilbo asked, looking around confused. 

Kíli smothered a snicker behind his hand while Fíli sighed and cuffed his younger brother over the head. “I know you don’t understand dwarrow customs and nuances, but surely that could be considered flirting by anyone’s standards.

Bilbo spluttered. “Flirting?! I was doing no such thing. I’ll have you know that Gimli did a great service to Middle Earth, but more importantly to my nephew.”

“What in the blue blazes are you talking about?” Gimli asked, beginning to get frustrated because he couldn’t understand. "I've never met a hobbit before!"

“Don’t mind Bilbo, Gimli. He’s a special case of reincarnation.”

“Upside, he knows what’s going to happen. Downside, he sounds absolutely batty,” Kíli piped in cheerily. 

Bilbo huffed. “Rude.”

Bilbo was thankful when the conversation veered away from that topic, as Gimli, being young and impressionable, cared little for the semantics of Bilbo’s reincarnation and took the boys' words at face value without any fuss. He cared more about whether or not Bilbo knew how to play a game called axes and swords. 

Bilbo did not. 

So Gimli took great joy in trouncing both he and Fí and Kí three times over. After that, Bilbo rather enjoyed giving him a taste of his own medicine. For the most part, Gimli was a good sport, taking it was a challenge, but when they ended in a draw, he insisted the last game didn’t count since Fíli and Bilbo had tied. Bilbo promised a rematch at another time. 

When they finally left, Bilbo had the chance to drag some information from his mother’s partner. Apparently, Glóin had been promoted from banker to Coin Master. He would be overseeing large scale transactions for Erebor and would become a constant face in business meetings now. The Council had already approved the promotion, as the dwarf had proved himself time and time again to be an honest and fair individual. Bilbo wouldn’t be surprised if he had a seat on the Council one day. Provided he learned to have shorter conversations about his family. 

“Bilbo,” Dís began hesitantly as they entered their quarters. 

Dís was never hesitant. It was enough for Bilbo to turn and gauge her face. She certainly looked nervous, though why she did while talking to him, he wasn’t sure. Dís was nothing if not confident. Bilbo glanced at his mother, who was sketching out her next painting on a wooden board. She had paused in her charcoal strokes to observe them.

“Your mother and I would like to speak with you alone. Would that be okay?”

Warily, Bilbo nodded. “Yes…”

Did this have to do with his nightly adventures? He had hoped he’s been discreet. He chewed on his bottom lip as Belladonna led him into her shared bedroom, only distantly aware of Dís shooing her children out of the house and shutting the door behind them. It must be serious then. 

“Are you angry?” he asked his mother. He was prepared to look very cute. 

Belladonna laughed a little. “No, songbird. Neither of us are angry. Should we be?”

“No,” he replied quickly. What they didn’t know couldn’t kill them. 

She quirked one dark brow but did not try to delve any deeper into whatever Bilbo may or may not have been hiding. Dís came into the room and smoothed out her skirts unnecessarily. The fabric wouldn’t dare have a wrinkle in it while she was wearing it, that much Bilbo was certain of. Both ladies sat on the bed while he stood in front of them. Their little glances at each other, looking for reassurance did nothing to make him feel more at ease. 

“What is this about?” he finally asked, after they had been making eyes at each other for about a minute. 

Belladonna dragged her eyes back to her son. Taking a breath, she smiled at him. “You know that Dís and I are…well, together,” she began. 

“Yes,” replied Bilbo dryly. How could he have missed that? It had only taken him a couple of days to realize what was going on between them and had since steered clear of the topic. 

“_Romantically… _” stressed Belladonna. 

“I know…” This was becoming more and more confusing. Was there ever any doubt of that?

Belladonna looked at her partner for help. 

“Well,” Dís picked the conversation up. “Thorin told you about Ones. Do you remember?”

Bilbo smiled at them. Was that what this was about? “Are you trying to tell me you and Lady Dís are Ones, mother?” Really, they shouldn’t have been concerned. 

Dís winced. 

Bilbo frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Belladonna cleared her throat. “You know I would never try to force you into anything you weren’t ready for, don’t you?”

Furrowing his brows, Bilbo responded, “yes, mother, of course?” 

“Well, Dís is a part of our family now.” She took a deep breath, seeming to try and steady herself. “And we were hoping that you might consider addressing her as something more…_ familial _.”

Understand dawned. “You want me to call her ‘mother’ too?” Bilbo wasn’t sure about that. “I’ve only ever called _ you _mother. It’s what I call you,” he finished lamely, not sure how to explain his reasoning because his tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

Dís offered a hesitant smile and held out her hand to him. Bilbo took it but already felt anxiety at the thought of having to reject the suggestion. That would only hurt Dís and his mother. Dís tugged a little bit until he stood against her knees. She reached her hands up and placed them on his forearms. He balanced himself by returning the gesture. 

“No, Bilbo, you’re right. ‘Mother’ is Belladonna, isn’t it? I was hoping that perhaps I could be ‘amad’. Like Fíli and Kíli call me.”

Bilbo felt at ease right away, but he was still floundering in these new dynamics. “Would that mean that Fí and Kí are my brothers if you are one of my parents?” he checked. 

Dís looked relieved. “Yes, if you’d like them to.”

Bilbo felt lighter already. But then a thought occurred to him, and he slumped a little bit. “But I’m…old. I’m one-hundred-and-forty-four. Even though I look like this, I’m—”

“You’re thirteen,” Belladonna said firmly, steel in her eyes. Before Bilbo could get a protest out of his mouth Belladonna shook her head. “No, Bilbo, I don’t want to hear it. You may think that you’re that old, but do you know how I know you’re not?”

Bilbo shook his head mutely. 

“Because when you need help, you call for your ‘momma’. You still like to snuggle just like a faunt your age would. You still like to play, no matter how much you protest. You don’t need to pretend to dislike childish things because the truth is, even if you remember all those years, your mind, your heart, and your body are still my little boy.”

Bilbo bit his lip. “But I’m able to do things that other little boys don’t. I have a large business, I became the official heir to the Thain against all my relatives, and I’m already doing business and diplomacy mission with other kingdoms!” he waved a hand at Dís

“That’s true. You may have the knowledge, but you still respond to situations like a thirteen-year-old would. What happened when you found Thorin digging through your merchandise when we first arrive. He yelled at you and you what?” 

Bilbo looked down in shame. “I ran away.”

Tipping his chin up with her fingers, Belladonna nodded. “You did what any other faunt your age would have done. You are still my little boy and you don’t have to feel pressured to stop calling me ‘momma’ or not to call Dís ‘amad’ if that’s what you want to do.”

Swallowing, Bilbo blushed. “Sometimes I feel like an adult playing at being a child. Sometimes it’s the other way around. My head is so jumbled and I’m always confused.”

“You don’t have to force yourself, Bilbo. Just be true to yourself in whatever moment you find yourself in.” Dís reminded gently. “I won’t be mad if you don’t want to call me amad. I understand that I can never take your father’s place in your heart.”

Bungo’s place? That was a very small place. “You’d take up too much space to fit in there,” he said softly, smiling a little. It used to feel so big and empty. Now all that resided was guilt and remorse, the loss having faded over the seasons since. 

Dís’ beard moved as she swallowed hard. Belladonna smiled, but her eyes glistened with a few unshed tears.

“I’d like it,” he finally said. “If you’d let me call you amad. You can have your own place in my heart.”

Dís clutched him to her in a fierce hug. “I’m honoured, Bilbo,” she said in a slightly choked voice as their beads clinked together. 

Bilbo wrapped his arms around her neck and cuddled into her surprisingly soft beard. Perhaps his mother was right. Maybe it was okay to stay a little boy a little while longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo meets Siethös. She is not fit company.
> 
> **Early trigger warning for child abuse-if you want to skip the chapter, there will be a brief summary in the endnotes to let you know what has transpired**


	28. In Which Bilbo Plays a Game of Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo meets Siethös. She is not fit company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The following chapter could be described as child abuse, please proceed with caution. For those of you to do not wish to read, I will add a short summary in the end notes!

Bilbo slipped out from between his brothers carefully. He had done this enough times that it was not difficult to remove himself from their cuddling without waking them up. The two simple filled the empty space he left between them and settled back into sleep. 

The first time it had happened, Bilbo had stood there, breathing quietly for ten minutes, thinking he had roused them from their dreams. This time, he simply pulled on his jacket and straightened his apparel before he headed for the door. He knew that Dís —_ amad, _ he corrected himself— was likely up and doing paperwork in the room she shared when his mother. If she knew about her nightly escapades, she never let on, nor did she try to stop him; so he wasn’t worried. 

Thorin’s candle had been snuffed out, and he was likely sleeping as well. Bilbo knew _ he _didn’t know about his adventures or else he would be up and scowling, just waiting for Bilbo to try and make his exit. 

As he shut the front door quietly, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He loved his family dearly. But there were some things he needed to do alone. Tonight, he was headed over to check on Nori’s brothers. He had been worried, and Bilbo was more than capable of checking on them. Amad had been very clear with him that he was not to give away his excess food. He would be eating all of it from now on in preparation for the winter. But what would that mean for the Ri brothers? Ori was still young and needed food too. Dori’s job in the textile industry was not _ bad _per se, but it wasn’t quite enough to get a roof over their head and enough food on their table. Hence why the middle Ri had taken to thieving in his spare time when he wasn’t working for Dís or Bilbo. 

Belegost was quiet at night. Dwarrow had no problem seeing in the dark, but Bilbo wasn’t quite so lucky. Being at a disadvantage wasn’t ideal, but he made do by identifying landmarks on his way to his destination. 

Once he turned onto their street, Bilbo saw Ori’s bedroom light in the distance easily, since the dwarrow didn’t seem to believe in street lamps. He should have known Ori had been dedicated and studious from a young age, but it still impressed him. He would very much like to become friends with the young man, but Dori hardly ever allowed the boy out of the house, and he’d never been brave enough to ask to go in, especially since he was affiliated with Nori, who Dori considered to be untrustworthy.

Bilbo wasn’t sure if Nori had mentioned him or not, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to risk facing off with an overprotective Dori. He might ban Bilbo from his house or worse, take him in and mother him like he mothered Ori. (Two mothers were quite enough, thank you very much.) So for now, it was best to stay outside. Perhaps he could hang around Balin more and get a glimpse of him then. 

Looking back years later, Bilbo would curse himself for being so distracted. He’d been stupid. He’d been arrogant. And that was why he was serving out such a harsh punishment. He’d never thought things would deviate beyond what he deviated himself. But that was wrong. Because every action that he took had a domino effect. And he was about to find that out for himself. 

He’d never even had the chance to scream. One moment, he’d been intent on reaching Ori’s house. The next, something sharp dug into what meat there was on his shoulder. He’d opened his mouth to scream but his entire body just stopped working. His eyes were wide open with fright, mouth still agape in preparation for the cry he was about to send through the mountain cavern when he began to careen forwards, about to faceplant in the middle of the dirt road. 

Bilbo was caught by something. It was quick and it’s texture was hard. So, so quick. He was turned around over and over. Panic flooded his system and he wanted so badly to squirm out of its hold. All he managed was a few twitches. His muscles would not respond even as something wrapped around him tightly. 

A memory sprang to his mind. He had been sitting in the garden atop Bag End with Bungo, observing as a spider caught its prey. Bilbo had been about to help the little moth, but Bungo had stopped him.

“Everything has a life cycle, Bilbo.” He’d educated as he chewed on the end of his pipe. “That moth will feed the spider, and the spider will feed the bird, and the bird will feed the weasle and so on. Everything has its role to play.” 

Another memory, this time from the Before, flashed through his mind next. The giant spiders of Mirkwood… They had wrapped the company up, and they’d been unable to do anything until Bilbo had cut them down. Were there spiders in Belegost? 

_ Oh, Yavanna, _ he cried out inwardly, unable to do so audibly. _ I’m about to die, aren’t I? I can’t die! You didn’t bring me back to be food for a spider, did you? _

But there was no response. Bilbo was about to become nothing more than food for the spider. Food that the spider would likely keep alive for a long time and continue to feed off of it. Bilbo wanted his mother. He wanted amad. He wanted his brothers and Thorin. But they were not nearby. And they did not know where he was.

Even Nori was in Nogrod by his own word. He had no one to blame but himself and his foolishness. Foolishness that was about to cost him his life. His shoulder hurt so badly!

_ Please, Yavanna! _ Bilbo pleaded. _ This can’t be what I returned for! Please don’t let me die here! _

But there was no answer. Perhaps she had forsaken him because he was too far beyond her reaches at this point. Perhaps he was an abomination and was never supposed to return in the first place. 

As the darkness closed in around his face and he could feel the spider moving at an alarming pace, Bilbo took in a shuddering breath. _ Amad, I’m sorry. I never got the chance to call you that out loud. Please don’t leave my mother alone. _

Being carried by a spider was a sickening experience. Bilbo found himself being passed between its limbs as it skittered across Belegost and eventually started climbing. He was occasionally adjusted or turned in its hold as it switched him between legs. He lost track of time. He had been upside down for so long that all the blood rushed to his head and made him dizzy. 

His fingers tingled slightly, which was a good sign. He wasn’t entirely numb. The farther the spider climbed the more panic flooded into his system. He couldn’t die! He had things he needed to do! He had people he couldn’t bear to leave behind! He needed a plan to get out of this mess before he was used as some spider’s snack. 

The spider halted all movement. Could there be there was someone nearby? Was that why the spider had stopped? Hope was bright as Bilbo tried to get sound out of his throat to scream. He didn’t stop until he was laid down on something bouncy. 

_ A web, _he despaired.

The spider moved about the web, sending vibrations down to him. It only helped to excite his fear. He tried to struggle. He only managed a weak twitch. But that was good! A twitch was better than nothing. The poison must be filtering out of his system. The wound on his shoulder burned. He could feel tears on his face. It was so dark and he hated the feeling of the spider’s string wrapped around him. 

The web bounced as the spider moved towards him. Then the wrappings over his face were being removed. Bilbo wished he could have screamed. Giant spiders were so much _ bigger _than he remembered. Or perhaps he was just so much smaller. 

_ “Bilbo…” _it hissed at him.

Bilbo froze. How did it know his name? How was it even _ speaking? _He wished to open his mouth to respond, but he still couldn’t move. 

_ “Do you realize how much trouble you’ve caused?” _ it demanded, sounding irritated. _ “Have you even thought it through?” _

That threw him for a loop. Why was the spider talking to him? What was it talking _ about? _Thought what through? Bilbo didn’t understand. 

_ The poison coursing through your system will keep you my captive audience, so you will listen while I talk. It won’t last forever, but be forewarned: you had better not move too much.” _It warned as it used a leg to roll him over. 

Bilbo found himself staring down. He wouldn’t have been able to tell what he was looking at it he hadn’t seen the lights far, far below. 

_ Oh, Great Green Lady, _ he sucked in sharp breaths. _ I’m in a crack in the ceiling high above Belegost! _

The panic was back as the spider returned him to his back. Bilbo was once again met with the sight of its many beady eyes, glaring down at him. He could barely see it, but the few lights down in Belegost reflected back at him. He vaguely wondered which little orange glare was from Ori’s window.

“_ Now you listen,” _it hissed.

Well, it wasn’t as though he was able to go anywhere, now was it? The thought was sour but helped centre him.

_ “Did you even think about what the consequences before you convinced Thorin Oakenshield to give up his quest for Erebor?” _

He had. Bilbo had thought all about it. About Fíli’s fall, about Kíli’s horrified expression when his brother’s corpse hit the ground in front of him. About Kíli’s body lying in the snow. He’d thought about Thorin on the ice. About blue eyes that had turned grey. He’d thought about the gold sickness and the people who had died in Lake Town and those that had died in the Battle of Five Armies. He could hardly think of anything else. He glared in defiance at the creature. What could it know?

Siethös stared down at the tiny creature that had so offended her. This was _ not _how things were supposed to be progressing. Not at all. And she was rather peeved if she was being completely honest. 

Her tiny hobbit was spun up in her webs, laying before her in a small pile of _ unhappy _ . He was glaring at her out of big green eyes that were proudly displayed along with his scars, now that his hair had been pulled back and braided. They were full of righteous anger and self-justification. The disgust he was emanating was not surprising to her —she was a spider, after all— but the fire in his eyes was. Usually, after she’d done the whole shaking and turning and almost dropping routine, there was only terror or resignation, or they were too poisoned to make the muscles in their faces work at all. The children of Men were like that. So fearful. Dwarves were always angry, so they didn’t count. In any case, those individuals had been snacks. Bilbo was not a snack, so she hadn’t poisoned him _ too _much. He was small after all. Now, he was staring at her with fury the poison barely contained. He was practically trembling with it. All that foreknowledge and no wisdom at all. 

His thinking was too small.

_ “I would have thought you of all people would have realized what will happen if Smaug isn’t killed before the Great War of the Third Age? You may know it by another name: The War of the Ring.” _

She watched as his eyes grew large. He was starting to understand. Took him long enough. And here she thought her hobbit was supposed to be quick-witted. Yet, by his reaction, he was only just realizing she wasn’t some average, run-of-the-mill giant spider. Silver-tongue indeed. But really, did he honestly think a giant spider would have survived in a city of dwarrow for so long if they weren’t as intelligent as she? That _ alone _should clue him in to her brilliant nature, despite her current form.

Now that Bilbo now knew that she knew what would happen too, curiosity warred with distrust in his expression. Siethös wasn’t even sure if he was aware that he was gaining more control over his muscles. She hadn’t given him much poison. Just enough that he couldn’t make a fuss for a little while. The injection would do more permanent damage than the poison should, but his body was so small. She wasn’t sure how long he would be affected by the poison. It may remain in his system for weeks for all she knew. 

_ “You really are a bit of a disappointment, aren’t you. And here I was preparing to be impressed.” _ She hissed out a put-upon sigh. She missed having a voice. One simply could not deliver deadpan lines the same if all they could do was hiss. _ “Let’s try and reason this out, shall we? If Smaug exists while Sauron is building his army, Smaug will…” _

Siethös left the sentence open-ended, waiting for the light of understanding to dawn in his eyes. When it did, she used her legs to push her large body up and down in the semblance of nodding. The web bounced beneath them. Knowledge was replaced with panic in his gaze, so she stopped, letting it settle again. 

_ “Yessss,” _ she responded. _ “That’s right. Smaug will come to be under Sauron’s control. And if that happens,” _ she cocked her head to the side in her imagination and let a few second tick by. _ “Well, then, there really will be no hope for the Free Peoples, will there? And it will all be because of you. Such a shame. But you seem to be willing to take that risk. I never knew my little hobbit was so selfish!” _ she cackled, in spite of herself, because it was funny. _ No, _ she chided herself internally. _ We’re practising good behaviour and morals. _ But she didn’t feel too badly about it. It _ was _funny, after all.

He surprised her when he managed to croak out some semblance of a sentence. “Thorin… brothers… they’ll die…if they...Erebor...” he choked the words out, breathing hard with the effort.

That wasn’t _ necessarily _ true. Technically, that whole thing could be avoided but that wasn’t the point. The point was she was irritated and Bilbo was an idiot. His interference was just as bad as the Valar’s _ lack _of interference. They nearly amounted to the same thing! Neither deserved to sit on their moral high horses.

_ “Do you think I care? Though, I suppose that doesn’t matter to you, now does it. Then let’s think about this: do you think the mother who’s just lost their child to dragon fire cares? Do you think the town that has just been turned into charcoal cares? Do you think that the families of the soldiers who were summoned to fight village’s old Men care when they are sent off to battle the orcs that wouldn’t have been there if Erebor had been a safe haven? All those people who will seek sanctuary in the mountain will be dead because you didn’t want to lose three. Forget the fellowship of the ring. What ring? You never went to the misty mountains and fell down the goblin tunnel. The ring will be captured by Sauron when he captures Gollum in about fifty years or so and darkness will fall. That is what will happen if you and the line of Durin do not quest for Erebor.” _

_ Or, _ she thought, _ at least something to that effect. _

When Bilbo’s only response was to look horrified, she continued. Irritated as she was, she was more than happy to drive it into his thick skull. _ “And even if they did survive, what would happen when Smaug reigned terror over all of Middle Earth? Where do you think you could hide them that his fire or Sauron’s forces cannot touch? Nowhere will be safe!” _she laughed, cruelly. 

_ Bad Siethös _ . She scolded herself. _ No laughing at the plight of others, we’ve been over this. _

She should see that Bilbo didn’t want to hear what she was saying, but also that he couldn’t escape it. He may not want to believe her, but she knew that he would. His logical mind would kick in and he would see reason. He had to. There was no other alternative. 

“How do you know...what will...happen?” he rasped. “Are...you...like me? Why...help me?”

Siethös lowered her enormous head so she could angle one of her large eyes to look at him closely. Surely he was smarter than that. 

_ “Who do you think brought you here?” _ Also, why was he under the impression that she was _ helping _him? 

He gasped on an inhale, tears forming in his eyes, breath shuddering in his chest. He looked betrayed. “Lying!” he coughed. “Liar!”

Siethös ignored the little sting of rejection. It wasn’t as though she’d said anything or done anything that would make him like her, but she felt she was owed at least a little respect from him. She’d been watching over him for so long. _ “Why would I lie?” _

“It couldn’t have been you! I thought…”

This time, she really couldn’t hold back the hissing snicker that would have sounded like a full-bellied laugh if she’d had a throat and chest to laugh out of. _ “You thought _ —y _ ou thought it was one of the Valar?” _ she chortled. It really was a good joke! _ “You thought they’d care? They won’t interfere even if Sauron wins and darkness is spread over Arda. It goes against their moral code,” _ she said snidely. Never mind that Melkor had no problem throwing his influence about willy nilly. _ “The ages come and go and the Free Peoples rise and fall. The Valar care not. I’ve watched the world turn millions of times and I’ve watched it happen time and time again.” _

Siethös could see the exact moment when Bilbo became disillusioned. His eyes lost a bit of their sparkle and his muscles went lax as her words settled over him. 

“Can’t be right,” he muttered. “The Valar are good and just… We just don’t understand their reasoning…”

Siethös snuffed. _ “Whatever helps you sleep at night. If you can think of one time in history where the Valar swept in and actually made a difference, let me know.” _

Bilbo was pale, and he was shaking. Tiny vibrations moved the web and tickled at her seven remaining legs.

“This world is going to fall?” he whispered, looking so lost. 

_ “Ah! He understands. So glad you could catch up.” _

He glared at her. “What do you expect me to do? Thorin has already sworn he will not attempt to retake Erebor.” He jerked a bit. “What if I went and retrieved the ring early and destroyed it sooner rather than later?” he suggested, wriggling slightly now that the most potent of the poison was deactivating. 

_ “Denied,” _ she hissed flatly. _ “Gollum probably isn’t even in the Misty Mountains right now. If you knew where he was, the idea might have some small bit of intelligence hidden somewhere inside it, except that Erebor is still not a stronghold of the north and Smaug is still alive. Not to mention Thranduil was rather important in the north as well, but he never would have interfered with the outside world if his son hadn’t chosen to take part in the world after the Battle of Five Armies.” _

Bilbo shuddered at when she said the last. “Thranduil was important?”

Siethös wheezed out another sort-of-laugh. _ “You sound so surprised. You have heard of the mighty feats of his son, but did you ever get the chance to witness Thranduil’s skill? He’s a great tactician as well. Patient and perpetually clear-headed. He kept the orcs at bay in the north and sheltered the children of Men in his kingdom.” _

“I never thought of Thranduil as anything more than a rather annoying event during the journey,” the hobbit admitted, starting to peel away her webs. 

Siethös did not help him. _ “I’m sure he would appreciate that of all his great accomplishments, that is what he is remembered for.” _

Bilbo ignored the ‘tone’ of her hissing and thought about what the spider had said. It had insinuated that Thranduil hadn’t been a bad person after all, but Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to think well of the petty, arrogant elf. He held himself loftily above other people and liked to look down his narrow nose at those around him. Bilbo preferred more down to earth people himself. 

_ “You will need to convince Thorin to retake Erebor.” _Siethös said, bringing him out of his thoughts. 

He looked up into one of her larger eyes and shook his head. “A dwarf never goes back on his word once he swears something, short of death. And even if that wasn’t the case, with his nephews on the line, I doubt he would ever risk it. Neither would his sister. Amad would sooner chain him to a wall then let him quest for it now.”

There was a beat of silence. _ “Are you sure?” _

Huffing, Bilbo grew irritated. Why was he talking in a civilized manner to a giant spider that had poisoned him, kidnapped him, and insulted him?! He was relatively certain he wasn’t going to die by its hands tonight, so his anger was justified. Not to mention it was very insulting! “Yes, I’m _ sure _.” He stressed. “Dwarrow take vows very seriously, and the entire family witnessed it. Dwarrow do not forget.”

_ “Well then, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. It is time for you to reap what you have sowed.” _

Bilbo went very still and he could only describe the feeling he was experiencing is having his stomach fall quickly to Belegost below. “What do you mean?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. He had obviously had let his guard down too soon.

_ “This is a little game we shall call ‘Consequences’,” _ it informed him, as though they would be playing this game —whatever it may be— again. _ “I shall give you two options, and you shall pick one of them.” _

“I don’t want to play this game with you!” he shouted. 

One of its armoured legs came out and pressed over his mouth. Bilbo shuddered in revulsion. He couldn’t help but imagine the loud _ crunch _he would hear if it was ever squished by a very large shoe.

_ “You don’t have a choice. This is really just a courtesy. If you refuse to choose, I shall choose for you, and believe me when I say there is nothing you could possibly do to stop me.” _

Bilbo swallowed hard and he wished. He wished so much that he had never left the wide bed he shared with Fíli and Kíli. He wished so much that he was anywhere but here. He wished that he was not a tiny bug stuck in a spiders web. 

_ “Option one, you are passive. You do nothing and simply allow this world to fall into darkness. Your dwarves may live, or they may die. Not that it matters much since Sauron will overtake everything.” _

She bounced a little, getting excited. Option two was Siethös’ favourite. In fact, even if Bilbo chose option one, she would still be enacting option two, because it was the best one. But she did so love watching the colour drain from his face and the conflict raging within him. So much guilt, so much sorrow and anger. Oh, the anger! So much to amuse herself with. So many things to keep watching. 

_ “And option two, I set everything to rights. You see, all Valar have talents. And I am the Valar of Mischief and Lost Things. I’m demoted, but I still have my skill. They could not take it from me.” _ She said gleefully. _ “So I shall take their memories of you away completely and Thorin shall forget your warnings and your promise and then he will quest for Erebor. No one will even remember you’ve been here. Do you know why Bilbo Baggins of the Shire? Barrel-rider? Silver Tongue? Ring Bearer?” _

He didn’t respond, only continued to look ashen. 

She answered anyway. _ “Because _ _ you _ _ are a lost thing, Bilbo, so you belong to me, along with memories of you.” _ She bounced lightly again. _ “So, so! What is your choice! Make your choice now!” _she half-hissed, half sang. 

“Those are impossible options!” he cried out. “I want a third!”

_ “Alright then,” _ she replied easily. _ “The third is that I take everyone’s memory of you _ _ and _ _ I kill your mother too. She was supposed to die, you know. Now she’s a lost thing too. Her fate has been twisted and not even you know where she will end up. It could be considered a mercy.” _

“I don’t believe that!” he rebuked harshly as he struggled to sit up. “She is happy! She’s met the other half of her soul! She and Amad are One!”

_ “I shall not lay a finger on her if you choose option one or two. Really, Lost One, it is your choice you know.” _She swayed and enjoyed watching him clutch at the web for balance, whitening in fear. She wondered how much actually blood was left in his face at this point. If she kept bouncing, what color would he turn next? 

“If I chose option one, Arda will perish. Yet if I chose option two, everyone I’ve come to love here will forget me!” he sobbed quietly. “And my mother?”

_ “Provided she doesn’t make a nuisance of herself in the future and try to turn fate from its rightful course, I will harm nary a hair on her toes!” _ Siethös promised. _ “She will return to the Shire with you and you will still have someone who loves you. Now chose. I’m tiring of this part of the game.” _

“No,” he whispered. 

_ “You won’t choose?” _she asked, surprised, but no less ready to collect all her lost things from Belegost and leave. Dwarrow made her nervous. They were too quick to kill on sight and a bit too lethal to find company with. 

“No, that's not…” he took in a shuddering breath and squared his shoulders. Never mind that his voice came out shaky and tears were about to run down his face. “I will choose, but I wish for a concession.”

Siethös huffed. _ “What concession?” _she sighed. Her hobbit was a trifle high-maintenance and she was growing weary of his company. She wanted to feed but he was too small to even be considered a snack and too valuable to be considered food. She had other uses for him.

“Let my mother stay in Belegost,” he stated, firmly. Then his shoulders fell slightly and he was looking back down towards Belegost far below. “Let her stay with amad.”

_ How curious! _ Siethös thought, delighted. _ “You do realize she will forget you too, do you not?” _

His eyes rose to meet hers and she could see the raw pain in them. Perhaps the little thing was not as boring as he had presented himself in the beginning. “I understand. Please just...let her be happy. Leave her alone.”

_ “So you chose option two then, do you?” _Well, that saved her a lot of time and effort. 

“Yes.”

Leaning close, she hissed out, _ “Say it, little Foundling. Take ownership. Know that you are the one deciding this. This is the path you chose to take. You take responsibility upon yourself!” _ she rocked side to side, chanting softly. _ “Say it, say it, say it!” _

Swallowing hard, Bilbo’s chest shuddered and tears gathered in his eyes. “I chose option two,” he sobbed. “I chose to be forgotten,” he whimpered quietly, looking shocked.

Siethös bounced harder in her excitement as she began to weave her magic, barely noticing that Bilbo made no attempt to hold on tightly anymore, just allowed his limp body to be bounced about. He was in danger of falling, but she found it interesting that he did not try harder. Was he truly ready to give up right then? That wouldn’t do, no, that wouldn’t do at all. He had much ahead of him that needed to be done and it could not be done by a rag doll. 

_ “If you set the world on its right path again, then I will allow them to remember once more,” _she offered. 

His head jerked up, eyes wide and frantic. “Do you swear? He demanded, crawling towards her, hand fisting in her web. “Do you promise on your life?”

_ “I do not. I mean what I say but I am under no obligation to swear my life away. Do not test me, young one.” _ She was losing her patience. _ “Now listen closely,” _she ordered as she watched her magic flow over Belegost. 

Distracted, she forgot to continue. Shards of moments, glimpses, concepts, and thoughts of Bilbo floated up to her. They really weren’t of any consequence. To her eyes, they just looked like golden grains of sand. However, the large orbs of light that looked like rolling sand made up of brightly coloured jewels were _ very _important. She’d have to remember not to lose them if she was to ever return them. It was what held all the love and the memories and the plans from the people around him that loved him here. Bilbo could not see the lights, so did not respond to them when they came floating towards her and attached themselves to her body like ornaments. Such pretties. Yes, this was a good idea. Though she couldn’t see herself wanted to get rid of them anytime soon.

_ “Are you listening?” _she snapped, irritated that she’d gotten lost in thought.

He nodded, curls bouncing back and forth. 

_ “Good. The dwarrow of Belegost will sleep for the next twenty-four hours. Nothing you do or say will wake them up. You’d be better off trying waking the dead. _ Their minds would need to heal and compensate for the loss it could feel but not realize. _ Gather your belongings and leave the mountain. The caravan that comes twice a month is waiting. You will go back to the Shire and you will never try to contact Belegost personally again.” _

Bilbo’s eyes were glazed over in shock, but he nodded numbly. 

_ “If you cause any trouble, I will collect the only lost thing I will leave in Belegost when we leave.” _ She allowed a beat of heavy silence to weigh down on him as he stared up at her, waiting with dread in his eyes. _ “Your mother’s life.” _

Yes, watching this hobbit was interesting. Siethös especially loved the look of terrified horror on his face after she spoke. 

_ “Poor, scared little hobbit,” _ she cooed as she pushed herded him towards the edge of her web. He crawled backwards, not realizing where on the nest he was. _ “Don’t you worry. You and I have many years of fun together to look forwards to. Let’s play again sometime.” _

The shrill scream that left his mouth after his hand met empty space made her chuckle as he fell. As if she could afford to let him die. Her webs would catch him on the way down. This was not the time for fun and games.

_ Someday, perhaps. _ She thought wistfully as she climbed farther up into the inky darkness. _Yes, food next, I think._ She thought to herself. Being such a benevolent creature truly did take a lot of energy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Bilbo is kidnapped by a giant spider who claimed to be the Valar of Mischief and Lost Things. The spider offers him an ultimatum: either let the world fall to darkness by not letting Thorin quest for Erebor OR let the Valar of Mischief and Lost Things collect all the memories of Bilbo from everyone in Belegost, including his mother. Bilbo chooses option two. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Bilbo has returned to the Shire. He is not the same hobbit that left. However, it seems the Shire is not the same Shire that Bilbo had left either...


	29. In Which He is Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has returned to the Shire. He is not the same hobbit that left. However, it seems the Shire is not the same Shire that Bilbo had left either...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning for child abuse-brief summary in the endnotes for anyone who would like to skip reading the chapter**

BEHOLD: A VISUAL REPRESENTATION OF WHAT HAPPENED AFTER I POSTED CHAPTER 28...

And now, for you previously scheduled update...

* * *

Would his heart ever stop feeling like it was missing from his chest? Bilbo didn’t know. He was aware of every second in the day he spent knowing that somewhere, far to the west, his mother and his chosen family had forgotten him. On the journey from Belegost to the Shire, Bilbo hadn’t looked at the road ahead. He’d stared behind them until they crested the hill that would shield the mountains from his few. 

It had taken a little over two months to reach Bag End. Winter was coming, and the cold and occasional storm had made it difficult to travel. Bilbo wondered if it wasn’t poetic justice, that he’d be sent back to the Shire just in time for winter, the exact thing he’d wanted to avoid. Was he being punished? Had the Valar forsaken him? He couldn’t feel the earth anymore. He felt no joy at seeing the bright show of leaves and no sadness as they had turned dull and fell from the trees. He felt nothing at all. 

Bad End was exactly how they had left it. When Bilbo had stepped through the door, it seemed to him that he had stepped back in time. If it hadn’t been for the saferoom he and his mother had installed earlier that year with the help of their dwarrow friends, he would have thought to see his father reclining in his armchair when he turned the corner. 

The Gamgee’s had kept up the place. Everything was clean and comfortable. Although, since Bilbo hadn’t sent notice that he would be returning, so there was no food in the pantry and no clothes on the beds. He didn’t bother seeking out either thing. He just climbed into his father’s armchair and quietly observed how uncomfortable it suddenly seemed. To large and cold. Nothing like he remembered. 

Perhaps Bilbo had stayed there for a matter of hours. Perhaps it had been days. He floated in and out of awareness, lost in a sea of memory where he was utterly alone. He wanted his mother. He wanted his amad and his brothers and his Thorin. He wanted his Frodo and even his father. But of course, life didn’t respond to his pleas. 

That awful spider had been right. The Valar didn’t interfere with Middle Earth. They couldn’t be depended on. When had he ever depended on them before? He shouldn’t feel so let down by the prospect. 

The silence was heavy in the room as he watched small little bits of dust float through the light. He couldn’t help but relate to them. They were so insignificant and only moved when pushed by something else. Bilbo rarely moved from his position. Sometimes he would sit in the kitchen under the table. Sometimes he would sit on the bed he and his mother had shared before they left for Ered Luin. Sometimes he was pack in Bungo’s armchair. 

Bilbo had hardly noticed how still everything had been until he heard the door open. Hamfast was humming quietly as he shuffled about. Bilbo didn’t move from where he was curled on the armchair. He watched silently as the hobbit buzzed about the room he was in, dusting there, straightening something there. Bilbo wondered when he would be dusted away. 

After Hamfast plumped the small cushion on his mother’s rocking chair opposite him, he turned around to do the same to Bungo’s hair. The screech he let out had Bilbo snapping out of his stupor enough to cover his ears. 

“Young master Bilbo!” he cried, hand over his heart. “Ye nearly gave me a heart attack! You and ya mother are back, then? Why didn’t ye call?”

Bilbo didn’t respond, his throat was too busy thinking about Belladonna. _ Momma. _

Concern showed on his face after a few moments of silence. The man crouched down. He took Bilbo in for a moment. Whatever he saw did not comfort him. “Why don’t ye come for a visit with me wife. She’s been missing ya,” he said, gently picking him up from where he sat. 

When Bilbo offered him no resistance, he walked out the back door and crossed into his own yard. Bilbo thought it strange but not strange enough to make the effort of speaking. He was thirsty. When had he last had a drink?

He was set on something that felt like a cushioned bench before Hamfast crossed into another room, calling for his wife. The hushed whispers were loud enough for him to hear without exerting extra effort.

“I think somethin’s happened, Bell! He’s not murmured a single word!”

“The poor child!” Bell lamented from where they stood just beyond the doorway. “Look how skinny he is! How long has he been there?”

Hamfast sputtered. “Well, I reckon I dunno,” he replied. “I was only goin’ in to do the weekly cleaning and make sure everything was in order just like Belladonna asked me too.”

Bilbo winced at the sound of her name. 

“Do _ not _speak of this to anyone,” Bell instructed, whispering harshly. “You know what Fortinbras would do if he knew Bilbo was here!” 

“Ye don’t have to tell me twice,” Hamfast agreed with a grumble. I carried him through the back gardens. I dunno if anyone saw or not.”

“Even if they did, I doubt they would recognize him, sickly as he looks. I swear I’ve ne’er seen a faunt so fragile!” she whimpered. “I’ll take care of the lad best I can. If he gets worse, I say we send for the doctor.”

Footsteps approached him, but he didn’t turn his head. Bell Goodchild sat across from him and pulled his feet into her lap so she could pat his legs. It reminded him of his grandmother. She used to do that before she'd journeyed to Yvanna's Garden. “Hello, Bilbo. How are you today?” she asked, kindly. 

Bilbo appreciated the normalcy but couldn’t muster any energy to respond. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to expect him to.

“I’m going to give you a bath, alright Bilbo?” she spoke slowly and carefully, but her voice was tender. “Then I’ll get some light soup into you.”

Bilbo felt himself being lifted by her. The comfort was so strong that he immediately curled into her shoulder. 

“Well, there now,” she smiled. “Seems you’re in there after all.”

Bilbo didn’t feel like he was. He felt adrift. Lost without hope of returning home. Home lay in the memories that other’s had lost. Memories he’d consented to losing. He was alone. That part of himself was gone. 

Warm water felt nice against his chilled skin. As though the water thawed him, he found it easier to move in the water for some reason. He lathered and scrubbed some of his own body, which he felt was an achievement. He even managed a thankful murmur when Bell assisted him with the rest. After he was in clean clothing that Hamfast had returned to Bag End for, he was worlds better than when he’d arrived. 

The soup was warm and slid down his throat easily. The more he ate the hungrier he felt. Bell and Hamfast watched over him like hawks. They were worried, and Bilbo was comforted by that fact. It made him feel less alone, more grounded. 

“Are you still hungry?” the Gardener questions as Bilbo set his spoon back in the empty bowl. 

Shaking his head, he managed a quiet, “no, thank you.”

Both hobbits looked relieved that he was speaking. Bell had him drink some water before they placed him in the guest bedroom and tucked him beneath the familiar weight of a quilt. 

“Sleep now, Bilbo. We’ll be here when you wake.” Bell said, pressing a quick kiss to his freshly washed curls. 

Bilbo shut his eyes and let himself drift off into much-needed sleep. He was safe. He was warm. He was with people he knew and trusted. He could sleep. 

Waking up proved harder than going to sleep. It was like trying to drag himself out of a sticky mud marsh. Poor Bilbo was disoriented when he finally pried his eyes open. Not recognizing his surroundings for a moment, he sat up and stared around the room. Where was his mother? He was just opening his mouth to call out for her when the memories returned. The smile died on his lips, and he laid back down. 

He would have been content to stay there for a great deal longer if there hadn’t been such a racket happening outside. Was there a party going on? What was all that shouting? Bilbo, irritated, sat back up and climbed out of the bed. Stomping out of the room he was met with the smell of freshly cooked eggs, but when he looked in the kitchen, it was empty. The pan had been pulled off the cooktop, but the fire was still going. When he peeked into the pan, the eggs were underdone. Bell or Hamfast had left this in a hurry. What could have drawn them away from what must have been second breakfast like that?

Curiosity would have had his feet heading for the front door, had it not been shoved open. It slammed against the wall with a loud sound that made Bilbo jump. Swinging around he was met with a vaguely familiar face, but not one that belonged in this home, stomping about as he pleased. That scared Bilbo more than the hoe in his hand. 

When the grown hobbit’s eyes found him, Bilbo let out a squeak and turned to run for the back door. He recognized him. That was one of his many cousins. The eldest, if he was not mistaken. They had never been close and had spoken very little. It seemed familial relationships were not enough to dissuade fear. He could hear the pursuit of heavy footfalls, but there was a spark of malice in the hobbit's expression kept Bilbo from seeing him as family. Family did not look at family like that. That look wasn't trustworthy. Everything in his being told Bilbo to _run. _

The door swung open and he darted out, barely taking the time to swing it shut behind him. He ran right, expecting the backway into his home to be clear. But there were people there, looking angry, looking scared, shouting! Bilbo turned and tried to run the other way, but he was boxed in! There were people there too! He could hear Hamfast and Bell’s voices carry from wherever they were. 

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on that boy!” Bell roared, seconded quickly by her husband. 

“Drag him to the front,” his second cousin ordered as he exited the Gamgee’s smial. 

Bilbo screamed in fright as he was roughly grabbed by two farm helpers and hauled off his feet. He remembered the first party he’d attended in Belegost when Fíli and Kíli had picked him up like this. That hadn’t hurt, so why did this? His arms were burning where they gripped tightly. 

“Let go!” he cried out, squirming in their hold. “Let go of me!” 

A vicious cheer from the crowd out front rose in their air as they caught sight of Bilbo. Their words cut through him sharply. 

"He's here!"

“Punish the murderer!” they demanded. 

Confusion rolled through him. What were they talking about? 

“We’ll have no abomination for a Thain!” they shouted. 

“Get the filth out of the Shire!” they jeered. 

Bilbo was petrified. He could not find a single kind face among the familiar ones spread out before him. To Bilbo, who was still so small, it looked like the entire Shire had come out. But what had he done to deserve this? Murderer? He’d never killed anyone or anything! Not in this lifetime, at least! So why then did they now call for justice against him? 

“Bring the Bindings!” his second cousin shouted to the riled crowd. His demand was met with cheers of agreement. Then the hobbit wheeled around and faced him, dark hair shifting with the movement. To Bilbo, it looked like he was looking down his nose at him. He was still held in mid-air, struggling with no avail. “Bilbo Baggins, you are hereby convicted of the murder of Bungo Baggins.”

Bilbo went limp in shock. “I didn’t kill my father!” he tried to be heard over the enthusiastic crowd. They sounded rabid to Bilbo’s young ears. “Wolves attacked us in our home!” There’d never been any dispute of that with the remains of Bungo the way they’d been! He was so confused. 

His second cousin, who’s name Bilbo couldn’t recall in all this horrific stress, continued on as though Bilbo had never spoken at all. “It has been acknowledged as a murder of negligence. Because of that, you will receive a lesser punishment than many would give you.”

Was Bilbo supposed to be grateful?

“Convicted? Punished?” Bilbo spluttered, throat dry and eyes wide with fear. “There was no trial! There was no Council meeting or evidence brought, or the Thain’s witness!” he shrieked over the din. “Where is my grandfather? Why had you not brought him as the Thain?”

That had the hobit's attention. His brown eyes fell on Bilbo and bore into him. Bilbo could almost see the small smirk he felt the other was suppressing. “Gerontius Took was found to be mentally unfit to continue his position as the Thain by order of the Council. As next in line, I have taken up the position in his stead.” 

Something was so very wrong here. Bilbo could feel it in his soul. The people of the Shire had always _disliked _him but not like this...

“But how is that possible? There was no word of this? I am the heir, I would know!” 

“You’ve been renounced by order of the Council,” Fortinbras replied, with barely any inflexion. He bent so he was near enough to speak in Bilbo's ear. "This cannot be avoided." Then his voice grew louder and carried over the crowd once more. "As the Thain, I have listened to the evidence and found you guilty of murder. As such, your right to remain in the Shire will be revoked,” he declared. 

_ Revoked? I am being banished? What level of nonsense is this? _ Bilbo cried out internally, unable to speak because the ‘bindings’ Fortinbras had spoken of earlier came into view. _ The Bindings of Exile, _ his breath caught. _ They mean to burn the hair off my feet and remove my status! _

“I’ve had no trial! Let go! Let go!” he screamed. “This is unlawful!”

No one listened. 

“Bilbo Baggins,” Fortinbras began. “Did you or did you not know the Fell Winter was coming?”

“I did! I tried to warn everyone to prepare and ration!”

Shouts from the crowd seemed confirmation enough for him because he didn’t appear to have heard Bilbo speak at all. Why giving them extra food and weapons and telling them to ration carefully was grounds for the accusatory shouting he was subjected to, he wasn't sure.

“Did you or did you not know your father was going to _ die _in this Fell Winter due to a wolf attack?”

Bilbo’s heart stopped and the tears flowed freely down his face. He knew how this would proceed. “I did everything I could to save them but in the end, I could only change the fate of my mother!” No one cared what he said. They would scar his feet and exile him regardless. 

“But you admit you _ knew _it would happen!” Fortinbras yelled, over the gathered assembly. He wasn’t asking.

Suddenly Bilbo understood why he was insisting upon this. He was creating a common enemy for the people of the Shire to unite them against. Bilbo was merely a means to an end for him; a thorn beneath the heel of the Shire that he could remove for them. He was gaining loyalty. 

“I did _ everything _to try and keep everyone alive!” he sobbed, no longer struggling against the hands that still held him. This wasn't right. This-wasn't-right-this-wasn't-right-this-wasn't-right! Panic seared his spine and heated the back of his skull. 

The Bindings of Exile consisted of a wooden platform on wheels that had straps attached to keep the convicted exile down while they removed the tuffs from the sensitive skin of their feet and scarred them with the fire. It was excruciating. And they were carrying him towards it.

“Please!” he begged, meeting the eyes of anyone who would look at him directly. “I’m only just thirteen!” he yelled. “I can’t be exiled until I’m an adult under the laws of the Thain! This was no trial! Where is your evidence?” he screamed. But nothing would dissuade them. “This is unlawful!” he tried again. “I didn’t murder my father! I didn’t! I didn’t! Please! Fortinbras, _please!_”

No one listened. 

The wood was hard and rough against his back, which was still only covered by a dressing gown. He struggled uselessly against the leather wraps they secured him down him. He kicked his feet, managing to catch his second cousin in the chin as he sought to help hold his wriggling form down. The threatening fist that landed close to his ankle had him stilling in startled shock for long enough that they could finish wrapping him in. It happened so quickly that by the time Bilbo had the mind to struggle again they were already tightening the straps. 

The ceremonial torch was lit and handed to Fortinbras. Bilbo screamed himself hoarse as the warning warmth of the fire licked closer to his skin. If Bilbo had been looking, he would have seen the hobbit swallow before lowering the torch. It touched the corner of his tuft and pressed into his skin like a brand. His scream petered off into a pained choke as all the air left him and darkness closed around his vision. Pain like this couldn’t possibly exist, could it? Bilbo was truly turning to dust. He couldn't breathe. Could you die from pain? He was a faunt! He couldn't withstand this sort of trauma! And they had barely even begun...

Then the sizzling, acid-like feeling was gone and all that was left behind was the blistering scorch and the smell of burnt hair and skin. Everything had come to a halt.

“May the Valar have mercy of all of you because I swear on my wife’s grave garden: if you so much as _ touch _him again we’ll be planting more grave gardens tomorrow.”

Gerontius Took had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Bilbo has returned to the Shire broken in his very soul. He doesn't realize that anything has changed until his relative chases him out of the smial where a riot of angry hobbits had gathered. He declares he now holds the seat of the Thain and that Bilbo has been renounced as the heir. Not only that, but he claims Bilbo is guilty of the murder of his father, Bungo Baggins. It was a murder of negligence since obviously Bilbo knew what would happen. They prepare to exile him by beginning the process of the singing of his foot hair. Thankfully, his grandfather, the rightful Thain, arrives in time to save his grandson and heir from the majority of the damage.
> 
> In the next chapter, Gerontius loved and supports his grandson through it all, and Bilbo makes an important decision.


	30. In Which Gerontius Supports Bilbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gerontius is the best hobbit.

Gerontius used his garden shears to cut the Bindings from Bilbo’s wrists, ankles, and middle. The sawing motion he used as he viciously scissored the tool to cut through the tough leather would dull the exquisitely crafted blades. They had been a 60th anniversary gift from his late wife, but he knew she would approve of his usage of them now, even if it irritated him. However, there were greater forces of anger warring inside him. Righteous fury raged through him like a winter storm. Uncontrollable and unpredictable. The small hobbit boy was taught and trembling, unable to move. He could see the shock on his face in the whites of his eyes and sweat on his forehead. His reaction was to be expected; Bilbo had been betrayed and abused by his own family. Pain was etched in every tense line of his being as the elder finished with the last strap, ignoring their uncertain audience as he gathered his poor boy up in his arms. 

The wobble of his lower lip and the small distressed whimpers falling from his mouth broke Gerontius’ heart. He tucked the hobbit’s face into his neck where he snuffled in an effort to contain his tears. 

“Hush now, my boy. I will not allow any more harm to come to you." He swore, voice cracking. 

Only when he had the child curled securely in the hold of his left arm did he turn his attention to the usurper. Fortinbras shifted from one foot to the other. The coward would not even meet Gerontius’ gaze. Straightening his shoulders, he stared down at the smaller hobbit. As he stepped forwards, his eyes caught on the ceremonial torch. The same torch used for lighting the wedding torches, funeral pyres, and memorial lanterns. How _ dare _he stoop so low. 

“Hand over the torch, _boy_.” He ordered, the last word sounding and feeling vastly different than when he’d used it to refer to Bilbo earlier. He held his right hand out, anger simmering low in his belly. 

Swallowing hard, Fortinbras tilted his chin up, defiance in his eyes even as they flickered uneasily over Bilbo's huddled form. “Uncle, you are sick. You are no longer recognized as the Thain. You have no power here any longer.”

The simmering came to a full boil. His hand shot out before he’d even though about it. He snatched it from his wayward grandson. The hobbit looked at his empty hand in shock before his eyes snapped up to meet Gerontius. Yes, this shameful hobbit with the ugly, jealous heart was one of his grandchildren. That he could do this was despicable... Gerontius wasn't sure he could ever look at this disgusting hobbit with any sense of familial bond in the future. Days spent coddling him when he was young, changing his nappy, holding him while he cried... it all fell by the wayside. He could find no forgiveness and no mercy in his heart for the forty-year-old hobbit. He had neither the excuse of youth nor of circumstance. Gerontius could almost feel the bond between them snapping. Later, he would mourn for the little faunt he'd cared for and so much time with. For now, justice would be served and his hunger for it would be satisfied.

“Do not think that I am unable to see your deceit beyond the mask of goodwill you put on. You use the fear and ignorance of these hobbits to procure power for yourself. That is not something any respectable hobbit would do,” he growled, loud enough that all could hear him. “You say that I am ill of mind because I will not renounce Bilbo Baggins as heir to my assets or my seat should he want it. I say you are ill of heart for stooping so low as to falsely accuse and convict a child and attempt to dole out punishment without a fair trial or witnesses or even his mother present!” he shouted, his voice having grown louder the longer he spoke. “What did you think you would gain from this?”

Fortinbras did not answer, but his face grew a bit paler and his eyes grew a bit wider. 

Gerontius flipped the torch upside-down and slammed the end that was still alight with fire into the ground next to Fortinbras' foot. “Consider yourself lucky that you are so far beneath me else I would have given you the same treatment you gave Bilbo.” He hissed. He didn't wait for the stunned hobbit to respond. He just turned so he was facing away from the smail and into the valley below so his voice would carry. “Let the very dirt beneath our feet understand my words this day,” he intoned. He saw a few hobbits open their round doors to see what was happening. “Fortinbras Took, as the head of the Took family, I speak on behalf of our ancestors and that of our living relatives. You are hereby renounced as kinfolk. You are unwelcome in our smails and unwelcome on our sacred grounds. When you pass away, your ashes will not be gathered. They will be left to blow away in the wind," he decreed.

“Grandfather, please, you do not know of what you speak! You do not understand what is happening here!” Fortinbras shouted desperately, fear and anger tinging his tone. 

Gerontius ignored him completely, clutching Bilbo more tightly. “Yavanna, oh lady, hear my prayer. Hear my pronouncement and hear the cries of your child. May justice fall upon him. May his life suffer for the suffering he has instilled in others. May his own lies tangle his tongue and his actions stain his person in the eyes of all who look on him! Let him reap the field he has sown!” he cried, voice strained with outrage and grief. 

“Your mad!” Fortinbras cried. “He’s mad! Call the healer!”

But no one moved. Their eyes were on the sky above. Gerontius followed their gaze and smiled. “Thank you, Green Mother, thank you,” he murmured, tears forming in his eyes, for the sky had grown dark and a roiling storm was coming. 

❦

If Gerontius had expected Bilbo to break down in tears when they were finally left alone, he had been poorly mistaken. In fact, instead of the flood of emotion that should have been there, Bilbo seemed to pull back entirely. His shaking had stilled and his halted breathing had ceased as the door to Bag End shut with his free hand. 

“You just sit here, Bilbo,” the elder said as he gently placed the faunt on the wingback chair next to the study fireplace. “I’ll fetch a blanket and we’ll have a proper chat.” 

_Where is your mother, Bilbo? She would have sooner taken kitchen clever and iron pan to them than send her beloved faunt to face those hobbits alone... _

He didn’t allow himself to be cowed when the boy showed no sign of hearing him. Bustling back into the entryway to head for the linen closet, he passed the blessed Gamgees, who stood there, faces drawn and hands twisted with worry.

“We’ll put the kettle on before we go home,” Bell offered, gently. She ran her fingers through Bilbo’s sweat-streaked hair on her way to the kitchen.

“Thank you, good lady,” said Gerontius, grateful. He was exhausted. “And thank you, good sir. You two have shown your hearts are of the highest quality today. I shall never forget it.”

Hamfast offered a tremulous smile, still shaken from the experience. “I doubt Bilbo will either,” he murmured, sadly. His eyes were on Bilbo, so sat there, as still as any doll might, eyes glassy and unmoving. 

Gerontius couldn’t disagree. 

Time passed, and things began to change. It hadn't taken long for Gertontius to realize that Belladonna was not even in the Shire and that Bilbo had travelled back _alone. _But Bilbo wouldn't speak of her or anything that had transpired in Belegost. He had paid Gerontius back for every penny he had ever borrowed from him and then some, so he had to assume that the caravan had been successful. So there must have been another reason. Gerontius chose not to attempt to pry Bilbo open but instead wrote insisted and increasingly angry letters to his daughter. He checked the post every day. He had yet to receive a response. Bilbo asked him to stop writing. Gerontius took better care to write when Bilbo was not watching from then on. 

It was not the only situation he was frustrated about. One would think that recognition from Yavanna herself would have restored good faith in Bilbo’s character. That was not the case. In fact, they seemed to avoid him more than ever. Not that Bilbo had left Bag End since he had been carried into it.

Instead of disgust and mistrust, they honestly seemed to fear him. Gerontius knew Bilbo wasn’t oblivious to this. He had either anticipated it or had heard his hushed conversations with the Gamgees, because when he finally cajoled his grandson into getting some fresh air with him, Bilbo was not surprised by the Shire’s reaction to him. 

Gerontius wanted to throw mud at them to see how well it stuck since logic and information hadn't at all. The hobbits they passed in the lane made wide berths around them and would not make eye contact with Bilbo. _ The Blessed Child, _ they called him. _Yavanna's Son. _They might as well have called him a leper for all it was doing for him.

For his part, Bilbo simply held his head high as they walked, appearing for all the world, unbothered. Gerontius knew there was anger and betrayal and possibly even hatred simmering beneath his cool facade. He seemed to close himself off from everyone. If the elder was being honest, it hurt. But he understood why. A heart could only be ripped apart so many times before it refused to let anyone access it. Whatever had happened in Belegost had been worse than Gerontius had first suspected. It put him in an even fouler mood.

“Anabel Gracebirdle, he’s no different than your own faunts, so stop acting as though he’s some aberrant!” he shouted angrily at the woman one day after she’d told her children, in their hearing_—knowing they were there—_to stay away from Bilbo. 

Bilbo put a hand on his arm and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he stated simply. 

But it did. 

When Bilbo’s thirteenth birthday came, Gerontius hoped it would be the thing to pull his grandson back into his youth. It was a dearly loved age marker, after all! When a hobbit had their thirteenth birthday, a huge party was thrown, as it was the marker for the transition from faunt to adolescent. There were copious amounts of food, flowers, music, gifts, and dancing. Ceremonial dances to Yavanna were offered and the hobbit would make a speech and announce their intention to become a certain someone’s apprentice or accept (or apply to accept, as the case may be) the responsibility as heir. 

Gerontius had every intention of hosting a party no one would forget.

“The Shire will speak of it for years!” he's crowed to Bilbo as he planned.

Bilbo had only smiled. May he had already suspected what would happen.

When the day of the party came the only ones who ending upcoming were the Gamgees, a brave faunt by the name of Drogo Baggins, and an old friend of Gerontius' names Gorbadoc Brandybuck. Gorbadoc had recently returned to the Shire after his travels in the surrounding lands. He'd also chosen to bring along one of his daughters, Primula, who had been friends with Bilbo when her family had travelled to Hobbiton from Buckland. However, the absence of the rest of Hobbiton was distinctly marked by the sea of empty chairs and clear table meant for food and gifts. The lack of musicians only made it worse. Gerontius stood, threatening to drag them out of their houses. Just as he was about to march away to do just that, followed closely behind by Gorbadoc, Bilbo spoke. 

“Who would want them here, grandfather?” he asked. “As I see it, I am surrounded by honest, good, and true people. This is enough.”

He reluctantly sat back down. They pulled a single table under the party tree and placed gifts at one end and food running down the centre. Bell had been kind enough to bring more food form their smail, since they'd only brought a contributing dish as many guests were expected. When she'd returned with home-baked breads, soft cheeses, and lovely fruits and garnishes to eat as finger food, no one found the meal lacking. By the time the sun had set, Gerontius was convinced Bilbo would have to role him home. Drogo wanted to sing badly, and Primula wanted to dance, so they sang songs while the goodnatured Hamfast played his lute poorly. The ceremonial dances that came after were nothing if not heartfelt, lacking in size as they were. But Garbadoc said, “If the gossip around here is any indication, we'd know if Yavanna was dissatisfied," so Gerontius did not make a fuss.

As much as he knew Bilbo deserved more than just a few people huddled beneath the party tree to celebrate his first age marker, he also knew that as long as Bilbo was happy, he would not protest. Bilbo honestly seemed like he was enjoying himself. Later, Gerontius would remember that night, not for the absence of the ignorant, but for the genuine smiles on the world-weary face of his grandson that night. It had made it all worth it. It didn’t matter if they were the only people who got to see them. They were the only ones who deserved to. 

When Dorgo had innocently asked Gorbadoc, “Father, will Bilbo’s tuft ever grow back?” Gerontius had frozen. Would his grandson be upset? But when his eyes landed on the boy, he was shaking his head with an understanding and patient smile on his face.

“If what was lost returns, it will not be the same.” He said simply.

For some reason, Gerontius felt he was speaking of more than just his mutilated tuft. 

When the first snow finally fell upon them, signalling winter’s arrival, there was a stark change in Bilbo. As fearful of winter as Gerontius knew him to be, he became reckless. Since Gerontius had moved into Bag End, he had expected to be the one watching over Bilbo. However, it seemed Bilbo had more or less appointed himself as the guardian of Gerontius and the Gamgees. It didn’t matter what he did, he could never manage to keep Bilbo in Bag End during the night. Not by words nor locking the doors and windows at night. The lad was determined, and there was no stopping him.

And should he question his grandson on what he was doing, he would respond with ‘training’. Though, he knew from the gossip going around the Shire that it was more than that. Word was that Bilbo Baggins was hunting creatures of darkness while the Shire slept. Of course, the tales that went around about him were larger than life, so accuracy was rather hit or miss.

_ I saw him take on a warg with his bare hands! Mad, that one! _One hobbit had claimed, though everyone knew good and well that there were no wargs in the Shire because the river hadn't frozen over again this winter.

That hadn’t seemed to matter. Mad Baggins had become a character that parents used to get their children to behave. 

_ If you don’t go to sleep like a good little faunt, Mad Baggins will come to steal the tuft from your right foot! _

The twisting of the truth had little effect on Bilbo or his spirits. Gerontius had only begun to worry what his grandson was hunting during those long winter nights after he had returned to Bag End from work one day to find his furnishings and belongings had been moved into the windowless safety of the safe room. How Bilbo had moved it or who had aided him, he wasn't sure. But there must have been something that had frightened the boy enough to be worried about Gerontius. 

The elder thought he would go mad with worry. He was failing his grandson. He could see it in every tear he didn’t shed and every grin he never cracked...and he didn’t know how to make it better. On top of that, though he had taken back his title as Thain, he was under constant scrutiny. Fortinbras had become an outcast overnight. Since he had lost his family name, his status, his good reputation and even his grave rights, it was clear he would never have a chance to marry. And if he did, Gerontius would personally ensure the man never had children. No child deserved a parent like that. Perhaps he would ask Bilbo if he could commission som steel-toed boots from dwarven friends from Bree. Garbadoc had told him Men and dwarves wore shoes like that often. They must be effective if that was the case. As much as he hated the thought of wearing shoes of any kind, he'd make a special exception just this once; it was for a cause.

As soon as he had been reinstated, he had dismantled the Council. They were greedy, proud, ignorant sods who hadn’t deserved to stay in power. Instead, he had nominated his own advisors: Bell Gamgee and Gorbadoc Broadbelt. Both had been honoured to be given the position. Hamfast had declined when asked, saying his wife had the wits between the two of them, but that he’d support them in any way he could. Gerontius couldn’t help but respect the man a little more. For Gorbadoc’s case, he had been travelling outside of the Shire for the past few years, so had not been around to contribute to or halt the prejudice and ignorance of the other hobbits. Gerontius knew his friend well enough to know he would have stopped it altogether. He also appreciated the new knowledge and wisdom he brought from the outside world. 

The Shire was, in general, quite insular. One of its many faults, in Gerontius’ opinion. Insular communities tended to create closeminded ignorant people. That was certainly the case with the Shire. 

“There are so many new things to explore, Gerontius!” he had enthused one cold night as they sat by the fire in the study.

“Tell me of them. If I have any hope of leading the Shire into a better place, I can’t be so willfully ignorant.” He would change this place for Bilbo. It _would _become a safe and happy place again. 

And so he went off, speaking of new medical discoveries, books he had read in Bree about politics and the courts of men in the south, the worrisome ever-increasing slave trade, and, his _favourite_ conversation topic, ‘the Guild’. 

“It is a marvel, truly, my friend! Did you know the Man called Graynar that comes to the Shire to trade is part of this Guild? The goods he sells are sold at the same price here as they would be in Gondor! Though, the Guild has yet to expand that far south.”

Gerontius’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “Is it really so massive?”

Nodding, he took a swig of ale from his mug. “And only continuing to expand. I once asked what the Guild’s goal was, and the Guild member I spoke to told me the owner wishes everyone to have necessities accessible to them. But I believe it goes beyond that. I believe they wish to expand across Middle Earth. It is more common than not to be buying from a Guild member these days in Bree, Fornose, and the Blue Mountains. Apparently, the dwarven noble is building a new city in the north of Norgod and the Guild is supplying the materials. I hear they are expanding their services to couriers this year!” 

Gerontius had to set his own mug down. “Imagine how interconnected Middle Earth would become if anyone could write letters back and forth to anyone. Information would travel so much more quickly! It could change the way Men, Elves, and Dwarves war with each other. It’s possible it would be as much a blessing as a curse. Will they make use of carrier birds?”

“Now that I don’t know. The Guild is fiercely protective of its owner and their goals. All I know is that early last year, the Guild popped up out of nowhere, creating jobs and forging connections between producers and makers with sellers that benefit all parties involved. There have been a few attempts to copy what they’re doing, but it usually has to do with getting coin quickly and not becoming a trusted facet of society, so they fall by the wayside quickly. It's become a bit of a giant in the business industry.”

“We should do well to keep an eye on this Guild.”

“Aye.”

When Bilbo passed by and grabbed his coat, Gerontius knew it was only out of politeness. He could have easily left without either of the conversing hobbits noticing, but Bilbo must have known his grandfather worried. 

“Off to save the world again boy?” he murmured quietly, unable to keep the sadness from his voice. 

“Not the world,” he responded as he grabbed one of the swords he’d had commissioned from dwarves before the Fell Winter. “Just a few good people.” 

Swallowing his protest as the door opened, he ordered, “come back to me safely.”

And the door shut. 

Gerontius wished Belladonna were near enough for him to shake the idiocy right out of her. He had never considered her stupid before, but his fiercely loyal heart was so incredibly worried about his grandson he could help the anger he felt. The Thain had found his heart hardening towards his daughter. To him, it looked like she had abandoned Bilbo. None of his letters to her demanding answers ever offered a response from her. He eventually wondered if Bilbo was somehow stopping his letters from getting to her. He had been adamant that he not mention him at all should he write her. It would be dangerous, he said. But Gerontius could not think of a single situation where it would be dangerous to chastise his daughter for leaving Bilbo to the wolves, so to speak. A terrible use of the metaphor, he knew, but an apt one nonetheless. 

_ “As long as she’s alive,” Bilbo had told him simply. “As long as she’s happy, it doesn’t matter if she remembers me or not.” _

His heart had broken that much more upon hearing his grandson’s words. How could his daughter leave her son alone like this? When winter finally ended, the only thing that showed signs of melting was the snow. Bilbo’s heart, however? Not a chance. He sent more letters, day after day, even if he didn’t expect a response anymore. 

What had happened to them? What could have caused this great distance between them? Bilbo would never answer. It was safer if he didn’t know, apparently. But Gerontius had never thought he would need to be protected from his grandson’s life, even as secretive as Bilbo was. His grandson was his grandson and that was all that mattered. Nothing and no one could cause that to change, so the fact that Gerontius wanted to protect him would never change either. Bilbo would just have to come to terms with the fact that he would worry whether or not he told Gerontius about what was really going on, so he might as well just tell him!

As the weather improved, the time Bilbo spent away from Bag End began to increase. Over the winter, it seemed he’d restricted himself to staying relatively close to home to be at hand if his skills—wherever they had come from—were needed. But now that spring had arrived and the grass was green and the forests and fields were brimming with food, Gerontius found himself quite alone. 

Bilbo would disappear for days on end, coming back looking harder and less faunt-like with each time he went off. Something was weighing heavily on the young lad, but he would not speak of it, this Gerontius knew. So when the day came that Bilbo finally said the words he had feared for so long, he was not surprised. 

“I’m leaving.”

Gerontius sucked in a breath and the food that had been on its way to his mouth fell off his fork. Setting the utensil down, he sat up to look at his heir. “Where will you go? What are you doing, Bilbo?”

Bilbo offered a small grin that barely touched his eyes. “Saving a few good people.”

He slammed a fist on the table, fear coursing through him. The world could be incredibly cruel, even to small hobbits like his grandson. There was no mercy even for the young. Hadn't Bilbo already learned that? “You’re too young to be galavanting about on your own!” he argued.

Bilbo looked into his eyes with an expression that spoke of more meaning than his words would reveal. “Am I?” 

And Gerontius hadn’t been able to convince him to stay. Nor would he have been able to force him, though he wished to desperately. The lad would just find a way out and run off to wherever he was going without giving Gerontius the chance to catch him again or to say goodbye. He knew his grandson well enough for that. So his only choice was to assist him and ensure he would be as well-equipt and loved as possible. The boy would know he supported him if it was the last thing Gerontius ever did!

Bilbo wasted no time in his preparations. His mind had been made up and he was eager to leave the rolling hills of the Shire behind him and pursue whatever was driving him. So when the day came that they both stood in the entryway, surrounded by BIlbo’s travelling gear, Gerontius hadn’t had time to prepare his heart yet. Now that the reality was upon him, he wanted to drag the lad further back into the smail and trap him in the safe room where the elder would know he was safe.

“You _ will _write, boy,” he spoke sternly, voice laced in anger because if it wasn’t anger then it would be tears. 

“I promise,” Bilbo hugged him. 

“And _often. _I want to know you are well and don’t you dare lie to me because I’ll know!” threatened the elder, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“I know, grandfather,” he choked a bit, squeezing harder.

“And you’ll visit. Or if you don’t want to be in the Shire, you’ll go to Bree, and I shall visit you.”

“I will try, grandfather.”

Swallowing, Gerontius finally asked the question he had been meaning to ask since Bilbo’s age marker had passed and he had not announced his intention to be his heir. “You do not wish to become the Thain after me, do you?”

Bilbo actually looked like he might cry then. “I truly did,” he said, eyes welling with tears that did not fall. 

“But you can’t.”

“But I can’t.”

_ Because you know it would be taken from you. My poor boy, my poor Bilbo. _He mourned inwardly. 

“The Shire does not deserve to have you,” he said vehemently. “You’ve always had a heart for the people but they’ve never had any heart to give back to you!”

“I do not need their hearts.” 

But it sounded like the denial of a child refusing the need for a mid-afternoon nap. Bilbo _did _want their regard deep in his heart. But he didn't _want _to want it. 

Gerontius gripped him tightly one last time before he released him and helped him strap his pack on. “Be safe, my boy.”

Bilbo stepped out of the round door and took a few steps forwards. Gerontius hadn’t expected him to stop. He’d expected the young lad to keep walking and never look back. He’d said his goodbyes to all the people that mattered, after all. But he didn’t he’d stopped. 

“Bilbo?” he tilted his head, half wishing his grandson would just get on with it so he could go inside and cry in peace without burdening the lad with guilt.

Without a word, the boy turned and charged back up the flagstone path and into his arms. They held each other tightly, neither willing to speak while their hearts were in their throats. Gerontius buried his face in the honey-blond curls for just a moment before looking up at the brilliant blue sky to blink the tears away. Bilbo got his voice under control first. 

“Thank you, grandfather,” he rasped. “Thank you so much. For everything. I love you.”

Then his grandson was gone from his arms and running towards the gate and onto the lane. But if he thought he could escape hearing Gerontius say it back to him, then he would just have to think again. 

“I love you too, you little bastard!” he shouted the first and whispered the last, tears in his voice and anger in his heart at the course of tragic events that had led up to this moment. “You come back to me, you hear? I expect you back before I die, little sod,” he muttered the last under his breath again because he didn’t mean it. “I know you know when I'll kick the bucket, so you have no excuse!”

The little laugh that carried to him on the wind felt healing somehow.

“Goodbye, Bilbo!” Bell and Hamfast shouted, waving from their open door. Bell had her hand over her belly. “We’ll miss you!”

Bilbo lifted his face to the wind and inhaled before waving to them a final time, and began his long walk through the Shire. 

Gerontius decided that he could cry in peace on the front doorstep just as well as he could inside. Bilbo didn't look back this time, and Gerontius didn’t turn to go back into the smail until after Bilbo’s small shape had disappeared from his sight entirely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED IN THE SECOND ARC...


	31. ANNOUNCEMENT and COVER ART

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> COVER ART!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS. You are amazing. Thank you all so much for your continued support and encouragement. You guys are the reason I've continued writing. Your comments and engagement on this story have really been astounding to me and it means more to me than I can say. 
> 
> THE CATALYST is one subscriber away from 1,000 subscribers! That is INSANE. Who's going to be #1,000? ;)

Thank you again for your continued support!

Also, thank you for your patience. My health encumbered my progress more than I thought it would. But I'm not giving up! I hope to see you join my community.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my editor, who has improved my writing by leaps and bounds. Thank you for putting all the time that you that you do into it. It is immensely helpful!


	32. Concerning Illegal Slaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has been hard at work for the past twelve years dismantling the illegal slave-trading business and is just finishing one such mission...

_ Twelve years later… _

“He’s this way!” the distant shout reached Bilbo’s ears through the small hole in the thick plaster wall from somewhere down the hallway. “Smoke that bastard out! I bet he’s in the throne room.”

Oh, they had found the lord quickly. Had one of the mercenaries that the lord had hired sold information to them? Mercenaries were not known for their loyalty. 

_ BAM! _The hand-held battering ram made the first contact with the large fortified doors to the elaborately decorated throne room. That had been fast. Bilbo hadn’t expected them to act so quickly. 

Lord Bellrick was stuffing documents, ledgers, and scrolls into a chest, eyes flickering to the heavily fortified door every few seconds. He dabbed his sweat soaked brow and turned back to open a small hidden cabinet in the wall to grab more items. Bilbo flinched at the sound of the gold coins clinking together. He hated that sound.

_ BAM! _

“Beldo, come!” he snapped. “You’ll be damaged if you stay by the door.”

Bilbo shrugged off the discomfort and stepped back from where he’d had his ear pressed to the clever little hole drilled into the interior of the wall that allowed sound from the outside to travel easily. He hurried over to where the slaver was standing, but his eyes stayed on the door. 

“We need to leave, master. The door will not hold much longer.” He said, swallowing hard and looking at where his labour-worn hands twisted together in front of him. The contrast between the white tunic and trousers he wore was stark against his deeply tanned skin. Even after three years spent in this manor, it still managed to surprise him. 

Lord Bellrick unlocked another cabinet and handed him the thirteen throwing knives that he had brought with him when he’d been transferred here. They were all in their slips along the sheath that would wrap around his waist for easy access. Bilbo reveled in having them in his hands again. 

“Put that on,” he ordered. “We’re leaving now.”

Bilbo did as he was told, his fingers fumbling a bit as he fastened it securely just above his hips.

_ BAM! _

As the battering ram slammed into the centre of the double doors, they cracked and splintered loudly. They wouldn’t hold for much longer. Bilbo leapt back to stand in a semicircle with five other guards that Lord Bellrick had paid handsomely to be his last line of defence. He was careful not to jostle the small hidden skien strapped against the wooden board across his chest underneath his shirt. 

“Hurry up, boy!” the lord growled, grabbing his bicep and all but dragging Bilbo behind him as he made his way to the portico that spanned between two buildings. 

Hobbit slaves were apparently rare commodities—good for domestic work and too innocent to successfully defy their masters. Bilbo assumed that was the reason he was the only one accompanying the master right now. Not to mention he could be sold for an exorbitant amount of money if Bellrick was desperate. 

“The balcony, my lord!” Bilbo advised, pointing down below. There was a raised courtyard with a large, life-sized game board that the balcony overlooked. The pieces, sculpted from tumble weeds and other desert shrubs, stood as lonely figures. They’d been left there in an abandoned game from the last time the manor had entertained visitors. “To the courtyard!”

Though, Bilbo knew the rebels would be on every level. 

“You will go first,” he demanded, voice tight as he pushed him toward the edge, his grip slipping from his sweat. 

Bilbo hurried to comply, lest he be shoved over the railing to save time. Lord Bellrick had always been careful. But now that the slaves were rebelling, his eyes had grown more suspicious and his stance had become more guarded. Bilbo knew that Man of Gondor must doubt he would ever see the other side of the Sea again. Slaves were rebelling, Beldo was a slave, and thus, could not be trusted. The logic awas sound enough.

Bellrick impatiently lifted him over the railing. Everything was too large in this manor, built for Men, not hobbits. 

They were on the second story. Thankfully, this manor only had two. Once his feet were firmly on the other side, he crouched so he could grab hold of the sculpted plaster that made up the tick rods of the balcony. Then he lowered himself as far as he could, trying not to panic at the empty space beneath him. A drop that would have been about two times the height of a Man was closer to four times his own unfinished height. But he’d been in worse situations. 

_ Being suspended in a spiderweb hundreds of feet over Belegost by a giant psychotic spider, for example. _ He thought, dryly. Surely this couldn’t compare.

With a deep breath, he released his hold and allowed himself to drop. As he fell the short distance, he couldn’t help the haunting memory that flashed behind his eyelids. The blond prince was suspended in the air by the crude blade through his back. The orc yanked it out of him and down he fell...

_ Falling… _

_ Falling… _

_ Falling… _

_ He has fallen… _

The sensation of his feet hitting the ground had his focus snapping back into the present; but not fast enough that he escaped the memory of the cry of rage and grief wrent from Kíli’s chest. It rang in his ears as he rolled to try to minimize the impact. The fall had been clumsy. His fear of falling, or rather, the fear of the memories that surfaced while he did had made his landing sloppy. He rolled to try and minimize the impact. When he stilled on the stone below, lying on his stomach, he hurried to push up to his hands and knees. 

He patted his chest to make sure the small water skein of red dye secured to his chest was unpunctured. He sighed in relief when he found no splotch of red spreading across his tunic. To cover for his delay, he made a show of looking around as he got to his feet. The courtyard was empty at the moment.

“It’s clear!” he whispered up at the man. 

He heard the sounds of the door splintering in the audience chamber, followed by a battle cry as Bellricks’ mercenaries began to battle with the slaves. A shame most of them had been in an Arena more times than the mercenaries could say they’d been in battle. 

Bellrick finally had no choice but to follow Bilbo down. He was heavier than Bilbo and in terrible physical condition. Heat made people from the north sluggish and lazy. The man had once been a mercenary himself, but he’d spent too much time lounging about and partaking in lavish luxuries. He’d gorged himself on figs and dates and the sweet breads of the south. The desert of Harad held many allures that Bilbo had never experienced before, in either life.

The lord hit the ground with a thud. His ankle twisted at an odd angle when he landed on it wrong. He let out a cry of pain and toppled over under the combined weight of himself and his chest of documents. The chest spilled out across the pavement dropping ledgers, scattering papers, and sending scrolled rolling in every direction. Lord Bellrick dropped down and snatched what he could off the ground to stuff it back into the box. 

“Don’t just stand there!” the lord shouted at him. “Help me!”

Hearing the sound of many footfalls coming towards them, Bilbo stepped forwards to follow Lord Bellrick’s directions. But then the courtyard was swarmed with rebels. Bilbo took action. His fingers found the loops on the end of his throwing knives. He first let one fly, then another. The rebels were marked by stripes of red painted somewhere on their clothes or faces. Their armor was made of thick _ ascalija _ hides and scales. Bilbo wasn’t actually sure any of his knives even embedded themselves anywhere but the ground.

One of the rebels charged Bellrick with a spear. Bilbo watched, flinching when the lord tossed him off to the side, shaking until he let go of the spear he had tried to impale him with. After that attempt, they moved in in groups to overwhelm him. It was working. The lord was tiring. And Bilbo was out of throwing knives. 

When Bellrick grabbed him by his bicep and hauled him toward the entry to the courtyard, Bilbo’s feet nearly left the ground. Bellrick was running and limping hard, face pale and jaw clenched. It was all Bilbo could do to keep up with him. Their attempt failed. More rebels waited for them in the adjacent garden. 

“Careful!” the Man who was obviously the leader, ordered. “He’s got a slave child with him.”

“That’s no child,” one of the other rebels told him. He recognized the Woman from around the lord’s manor. “That’s the lord’s hobbit.”

Bilbo couldn’t see much of what was happening from the angle he was at, but when the leader spoke again, his voice was deadly and low. Even for Bilbo, who only knew a few commands and basic words in the Hadri dialect could put together the few words he did know to understand what was being spoken. “Release the hobbit now. I am Danjo, son of Elith, and I am Aji City’s new lord.”

Bilbo tried to pull away and create distance, but the more he pulled, the harder Bellrick’s grip became. “What are you doing? Did I order you to move?” he snarled down at him.

Even though his collar and shackles had been removed in light of ‘Beldo’s’ good behavior, Bilbo could almost feel the physical weight around his neck, ankles, and wrists anchoring him to the spot. The Man reeked of fear and desperation. His eyes were shifting everywhere and catching on nothing. He was looking for a way out. 

The rebels took advantage of his distraction. The leader leapt forwards sword first and Bellrick instinctively brought his hands up to defend himself. Except, Bilbo was still firmly in his grip. Bilbo watched as the rebel’s eyes widened in shock as his blade did not make contact with the lord, but rather, with him instead. The blade pierced through Bilbo’s tunic. Dark red seeped through the fabric and flowered across his chest. 

Bellrick released him and Bilbo crumpled to the ground.

“Finish him, now!” the leader cried, dropping to his knees before him. His eyes scanned Bilbo’s face. 

Bilbo's eyes fell shut.

“Danjo, is he dead?” someone asked, voice tight. 

“He’s still breathing, but barely. We need to get him to the caravan. Those _ Ranj’lik _ know hobbits better than us Haradrim,” the Man, Danjo, responded. _ Ranj’lik _was the word they used for the people who lived in Middle Earth. Harad wasn’t technically considered Middle Earth, nor were the Haradrim considered one of the Free Peoples. 

Bilbo felt himself being lifted as Danjo stood. Then the Man was barking out orders, but Bilbo couldn’t understand all the words that were being spoken. The words for _ ‘mercenaries’ _ , _ ‘lord’ _ , _ ‘gather’, _ and _ ‘manor’ _ were repeated several times as he spoke, but Bilbo was more preoccupied with the jolting steps the man was taking. 

_ He must be running, _he thought to himself, breathing shallowly. 

“Hail!” Danjo shouted. They must have been nearing the caravan. “We have a wounded hobbit, _ Ranj’lik _, please help!”

A new voice muttered a prayer to the ancestors before they responded. “Bring them here! This is the medical wagon.”

The door squeaked as it was opened, and then Danjo was climbing into the wagon. It shifted beneath their weight, and Bilbo could tell they were not the only person who had entered. 

As soon as he heard the door latch, Bilbo opened his eyes and blinked. After the adjusted to the darkened interior of the wagon, Bilbo recognized his Guild Members, the Woman, Hanar, and the Man, Karlin. Danjo set him down on the cushioned bench that lined the one wall. Hanar started fussing over him, pulling the tunic up so she could see beneath. Her face was drawn and pinched as she began to carefully peel away the layer of fabric. 

“By the gods, my lord,” Hanar murmured, tears in her voice as she pried the fabric up. 

“Hanar, Karlin, I’m fine!” he smiled at them, laughing a bit. “It’s not real, see?” he tugged the rest of the tunic up unceremoniously, showing them the skein and the plank of wood that was carved to mold to his body that the pouch was spread over.

Danjo fell to the wagon floor, leaning forwards on his hand as he tried to breath. He snarled and punched the floorboards. “Damn it, Sting!” he growled, voice unsteady. “I thought I’d killed you! That was _ not _what we’d planned.”

Bilbo felt a bit sheepish. “Yes, well, it wasn’t my first choice, either.” He assured the man. “But aren’t you glad I was prepared?”

Danjo cursed and sent his fist into the floor again.

Karlin was leaning heavily against his forearms, facing the wall. His posture was stiff. He turned to glare at him over his shoulder. “You could have warned us you were going to play dead!” 

Bilbo frowned, sitting up and holding Hanar’s hands. She was glaring at the red splotch on his tunic. “That was the plan all along.”

“We weren’t expecting blood,” the Woman told him through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. But then it happened and the opportunity was too good to waste. A hell of a lot easier than convincing everyone I was loyal to Bellrick, in any case. The end result is the same, so I would call this a success.” Then he turned to Danjo and grinned just a trifle smugly. “Not so angry about having to alter that sword now, are you?”

The sword had been altered to collapse into the handle when triggered by the button on the handle. 

Danjo looked up from his position and glared. “I barely had time to trigger it, you—”

Bilbo wasn’t sure what he had just been called, but he was certain it wasn’t flattering. He laughed, falling back against the wall and letting the last of the adrenaline filter out of his system. His whole body felt like he was buzzing with fear, anticipation, and worry. There had been so many things that could have gone wrong during this rebellion. He was grateful the mercenaries had been subdued quickly. 

“The lord?” he queried. 

“Dead. I would tell you what we’re going to do with the body, but—”

BIlbo held up a hand. “I’m sure whatever you’re planning on doing will send a proper message.”

Danjo’s grin looked just a bit too sharp. “Yes.” He said simply. While he spoke Westeron, he wasn’t completely fluent, so he tended to speak in smaller sentences. Bilbo was just grateful they could communicate at all. 

“Just make sure you wait to do it until the caravan sets out. I don’t want to have to see it,” he grimaced. He was still a hobbit, after all, even after everything. 

“You’re truly leaving, then? Why not stay and help build Aji City back up?” the new lord asked, words almost pleading, but his face remained hard. 

_ Because I don’t stay, _he thought to himself, but he didn’t want to say the words aloud. Bilbo’s smile turned soft and he patted Danjo’s thick shoulder before he gripped it tightly. The size difference between his hand and Danjo’s shoulder was rather comical. “I’m not needed here anymore.”

Danjo frowned and stood so he could sit next to BIlbo between him and the door. “You’re wanted here.”

“Thank you,” he said simply. He couldn’t explain to Danjo that Bilbo could never stay anywhere. He had an exiled Valar keeping tabs on him and his attachments. He had no doubt that history would repeat itself if he tried to stay, even if he wanted to. He would rather know that Danjo remembered that he existed even if the Man came to think bitterly of him than know that Bilbo had been a ghost. Even if Danjo only knew him as ‘Sting’ and ‘Beldo’. It was enough. 

It was enough.

“How many people were killed? Did my knives hit anyone?” he asked, dreading the answer to both. 

“We still don’t know the full number. It’s hard to tell who belonged to who when everything’s stained red.” He asked, running a hand over his face. “And no, none of your knives hit anyone.”

Bilbo closed his eyes and sighed in relief. “I’m glad. I’ll have you collect those for me and send them to me by way of the Guild.” Bilbo motioned at the two Guild Members who were currently ignoring him to the best of their abilities. Somehow they still managed to hover.

“As we agreed,” he nodded.

“And the other portion of our agreement?”

Danjo grunted an affirmative. “I’ve ordered my second to gather all the documents, ledgers, and scrolls. The chest is sitting outside by now. My second will bring it.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I would look for your name in the ledgers to see if you had family to notify.” Some of his words were in Hadri, but BIlbo understood them for the most part. 

“Good. Karlin? Would you—”” 

Karlin was already moving before he could finish. He retrieved the chest from outside, carefully keeping the doors angled so no curious eyes could peer into the interior. When he climbed back inside and latched the doors, Bilbo’s eyes caught on the chest. He eagerly held out his hands for it. Once it was handed to him, he gave a quick word of gratitude before he set it on the floor and began pulling things out. 

Only when they were scattered around him did he have the chance to look more closely at their contents. Some of the information was outdated. Communication and negotiation with a lord Bilbo had already dealt with would be good evidence if he wasn’t already dead. But the Haradrim had their own way of doing things. Bilbo could respect that. 

Moving onto another ledger, Bilbo flipped through it. His face scrunched as he flipped back and forth to verify what he was seeing. 

“The Ettenmoors?” he looked at Danjo. “The troll-fells? How is there an organization based there?”

Danjo shrugged. “How would I know?”

“Interesting,” Bilbo mumbled to himself, licking one finger and using it to turn the pages more easily, flipping back and forth.

Danjo’s heavy sigh brought him back to the present. 

“What?” he asked, blinking up at the huge man.

“You will not come back,” he replied, deflating. 

He truly looked sad, and for that, Bilbo felt badly for. 

“Where will you go?” he asked, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair. 

“North,” quipped Bilbo, as though there were anywhere else to go. South Harad was extremely dangerous and he had no desire to find himself in the company of Troll Men. “If you ever need to reach me, send me a missive by way of the Guild. If it’s for Sting, it’ll find its way to me.”

Huffing out an annoying laugh, Danjo closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should be happy to see you go; you’re such a troublemaker.” He poked him hard in the chest where the red dye was drying. Once it had started to air out, it stopped looking dark enough to be blood. 

“You call it trouble, I call it a hobby.”

“What a horrible thing to say,” Danjo grumbled. 

As though Bilbo didn’t know that. As though it didn’t haunt him every day. As though his dreams weren’t filled by the people he had failed. He had stopped looking for the faces of the dead years ago. Now, he had stopped looking for the faces of the living. But somehow, making light of horrible situations made the burden easier to bear.

“Don’t you feel any responsibility for them? You’re the one who freed them. They all believe it was me!” he growled, eyes a bit too bright in the light of the small lantern in the caravan wagon.

“It _ was _ you. I just suggested it.”

“And funded it, by the great ones,” he muttered the last under his breath with a curse.

“What good is money if all it does is collect dust? That’s a good way to have a dragon on your hands. And to answer your question, no. I do not feel any responsibility. I fully believe people are capable of living full lives with very little input on my part. Any leftover responsibility is yours. It comes along with the palace and the city.”

“I wish you would stay,” he repeated stubbornly. 

Bilbo scoffed. “If I stayed any longer you’d cut your own ears off just so you didn’t have to listen to all the complaints your people will make against me when they realise what setting me loose truly means.”

Danjo grunted, half-agreeing, half-annoyed, but that just proved Bilbo’s point all the more.

“Now get out of here. I want to get that damned boat ride over with. Elves are so much better to sail with,” he muttered the last under his breath.

“Good travels to you, Sting. You live up to the name you gave me.”

That last jab had been unnecessary and petty, but he could see Danjo was truly hurt by his refusal to stay. They had become friends of late, but Bilbo did not want to become attached. Not with that spider waiting for him to trip up again. It seemed to take pleasure in tormenting him. Danjo would forget about him in time, with or without Siethos’ help. 

“Danjo,” he put a hand on the Man’s arm to halt him from opening the door. He stopped but didn’t look back. His shoulders were tense and his form was stiff. Danjo was crying and trying to hide it. Hanar and Karlin turned away to give him privacy. “I meant what I said. If you want to contact me for any reason, just write to Sting. As long as it’s not between the year 2941 and 2943,” he added. “I’m reserved.”

Danjo thought he was joking. “Just for that, I’m only sending ten of your thirteen knives.”

Bilbo squeezed a bit hard. _ “All. _ I want _ all _thirteen.”

“Yes, yes, now get out of here before I threaten to make you return for them.”

After shoving the ledgers and scrolls out of sight beneath one of the rows of seating, Bilbo reluctantly laid back down on the bench and closed his eyes. The wagon door opened and the wagon tilted as Danjo climbed out. Bilbo wondered if that was the last time he would ever see the Man. As soon as the door clicked shut, he heard Danjo say something in his native tongue that Bilbo could not understand. Hanar and Karlin were still ignoring him. He took that opportunity to enjoy some peace and quiet before they began to lecture him as he knew they would. Turns out, they were worse than Dori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo receives a letter from his manager, Mr. Endry Stok concerning a few issues that have arisen in his absence, most notable, in the form of a certain Garbadoc Brandybuck.


	33. Concerning Letters and Filial Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo receives a letter from his manager, Mr. Endry Stok concerning a few issues that have arisen in his absence, most notable, in the form of a certain Garbadoc Brandybuck.

It wasn’t until weeks later that Bilbo finally stepped off the ship and back onto firm ground. While travelling across the Bay of Belfalas was by far the fastest and safest route from Harad to South Gondor, Bilbo quite disliked travelling by sea. Something about the absolute nothingness beneath the boat, the lack of good solid dirt, and the constant rocking set him ill at ease. Had his voyage with the elves been like that at the end of his last life? He couldn’t quite remember.

Regardless, his time in Harad had been essential. He remembered that in the Before, the Haradrim had assisted Sauron in the Great War of the Third Age. When he had arrived, it became quite obvious why that was. Their leaders were corrupt. They took and took and took from their people until they had nothing left to give. Bilbo had watched them start wars over nothing and use the sons and fathers of their citizens as pawns in a game that’s only true purpose was to entertain them. He had no doubt they had agreed readily when their aid was demanded. Cowardice and greed seemed to be the magical combination to create corruption.

Evil could almost always be traced back to power, in Bilbo’s experience. It just so happened that Lord Belrick, who had purchased Aji City to rule over, had played an integral part in perpetuating the slave trade from Harad into Middle Earth by exploiting those he considered to be his ‘resources’. Bilbo knew that dismantling one corrupt lord’s power base was by no means part of a greater whole. However, it was a start. He had hope that other cities and settlements would continue what he had started.

“Master Bilbo?” Hanar came to stand beside him where he was looking over the ocean. “Is something the matter?”

Shaking off his own thoughts and guilt, he smiled at the Man. “Of course not. We’re home, aren’t we?”

Hanar snorted. “Not hardly. Spend much time in the south of Gondor proper, have you?”

Bilbo shrugged. “Once, for a year.”

“More of what you just did in Harad?”

“Yes,” he said simply, and then changed the subject. “Do you know when the Guild Courier will arrive to deliver my held post? If I’m not mistaken, I’m to receive a slew of letters.”

“They didn’t come to see you? I thought they’d at least wait for your replies. Maybe they’re new.”

“Or incredibly busy,” Bilbo offered, knowing he would have too many letters to wait on replies for. Reading them all could take all night. “If my letters have already arrived, then where are they? I’m in the mood for a good dousing of filial guilt,” he snorted fondly. His grandfather really would stop at nothing to get him to return ‘home’.

“Karlin should have them since I don’t, but she’s still helping the dock-men unload. Should I fetch her?”

“Just the letters, if you please. I don’t mean to disturb your work more than I already have,” he requested, fingers searching for the hidden braid that was pinned up against his skull to find the bead there. He had replaced it in his hair after they’d left Aji City. He had never wanted to risk having it taken from him, so he never wore it while he was working. It was too meaningful. Because Thorin had...Bilbo shook himself from his thoughts and turned his attention to the man who had been scowling at him for the better part of a minute. Hanar turned and stalked away without a word.

They had given him quite the tongue lashing that had lasted for the entire length of their voyage. Bilbo’s ears still rang from it. Probably best not to excite that particular skill of theirs any time soon. He’d be saying his goodbyes to the two former slaves in the near future and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Glancing to his right, he saw a crate a few feet away. He was still getting his land-legs back, so he really could use a place to sit down for a moment. He sat atop the sandy box and sighed in relief. The sky was a wide expanse of blue over the ocean. It truly was beautiful. Harad wasn’t even a thin line on the horizon from the coast of South Gondor, yet he still found himself searching for it. 

He wondered what the Shire would have thought if they’d seen him sitting there, lounging back and sunning himself like a cat. He was hardly the same hobbit he’d been when he’d left. In fact, he was hardly a hobbit at all. Hobbits did not have ghastly scars covering half their faces, nor were they missing a tuft off of one foot. Gentleman hobbits kept their hair short and bouncy with curls, and Bilbo’s was past his mid-back now, wild and free, a silent promise to someone who couldn’t remember. He had no respectable girth to speak of and found himself more toned than soft. He missed softness. But he had learned that softness would get you or others killed. Bilbo scratched at his wrists over the marks the manacles had made on them over the years. His ankles were the same. Even the column of his throat bore marks. If he ever stepped back in the Shire, what would they think of him? Would they even recognize him? But then, who else could he be?

“Here you are, Master Bilbo!” Hanar called, much more cheerily than when he had left. 

“Thank you,” Bilbo smiled and opened his eyes. When his eyes alighted on the large stack the Man held in his hands, he closed them again. “But I think you have perhaps brought me someone else’s mail?” he asked tentatively. “Surely not  _ all  _ of that is for me?”

With a smugness permeating his voice, he replied, “Oh no, Master Bilbo. It’s all for you. I’ll just leave these here. I wouldn’t want to disturb your work more than I already have.”

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to glare. Hanar had been right. That  _ was  _ incredibly annoying. But Hanar was gone, and all that Bilbo had left for company was a stack of letters that was as tall as the length of his hand. He squished them so they appeared smaller, hoping it would make the job seem less enormous. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. 

Sighing and deciding he couldn’t put off the task, he began shuffling through them to sort them into ‘important’, ‘unimportant’, and ‘tomorrow’. The seagulls squealed as they curled overhead, and a few ventured close to see if Bilbo carried any food. They quickly lost interest in both him and the paper, so he was left in relative peace. 

“Grandfather, important,” he muttered, starting a stack. “Mr. Stok, important. Ranger Garrick, important. Unknown sender, curious, but unimportant. Gamgees, tomorrow…” he continued through the stack, letting out a puff of air when he finally reached the end. Twenty-four letters.  _ Twenty-four.  _

_ I suppose that’s what I get for being unavailable for an entire month,  _ he thought with a small grin. As the rebellion had been taking shape, it had become more imperative to keep his cover. Thus, his biweekly trips into the town to receive his post had been halted altogether in favour of holding his post in the port city he knew he would arrive in after all was said and done.

Slipping a small boot knife out of its sheath on his leg, he carefully opened the seal of his grandfather’s cheery yellow envelope. 

_ My Dearest Grandson,  _

_ At the time of writing, I am sitting in your favourite chair beside the fire. Bad End feels empty with only myself to live in it, especially on nights like tonight when I’m weary from a long day’s work. One would think I would be pleased to be away from people, seeing as I spend the majority of my day sorting out the issues that they cannot handle themselves, but I often wish I had someone to come home to and speak to about it.  _

_ Speaking of things I would wish to speak to someone about…  _

_ _ Bilbo snorted.  _ How very subtle, Grandfather,  _ he thought, smiling. He missed Gerontius terribly. His eyes stung slightly as he continued reading.

_ …the new Council is full of young bright-eyed visionaries. I quite enjoy their energy. It’s a stark contrast from the stuffy old coots that used to advise me. However, it does have its own pitfalls. While they all have the best of intentions and the brightest ideas, I can’t help but notice a general lack of understanding when it comes to life experience. I do not believe wisdom can only be achieved through years, but I cannot help but wish a few of them had more of them to boast of. Surely there is a proper balance. I have spoken to Garbadoc of this several times, but he has never been invited to any courts or Council meetings of Men. You mentioned you attended the Gondor’s courts for a time. What can you tell me of them? How do they operate?  _

_ _ Bilbo had attended court. Just not as any high ranking visitor, as he had let his grandfather believe. He had been a high ranking  _ slave.  _ Not for very long. That mission had lasted only six months. Once the truth of his master-at-the-time had been revealed to Gondor’s court, they took care of him themselves. Sting had hardly needed to step in at all. He had simply disappeared. He had left behind the splendorous halls, though he had been invited to stay. 

The household had also settled upon him quite the rewards in reparation. He had been forced to accept, despite his guilt on the matter, because he hadn’t been able to explain to them that he was there of his own volition. He had made sure the money had gone to good use. Such as establishing a trade line from South Gondor to Harad. That had certainly come in handy. 

As for their Gondor’s courts, they were full of scholars, artists, philosophers, diplomats, architects, and foreign embassies and held little regard for age, only for qualifications. He wasn’t sure how he would inform his grandfather that the Shire was, for the most part, quite incapable of emulating such a situation. 

_ Speaking of Garbadoc, I must tell you of his misadventures. As you have likely gleaned in my past letters, he is quite obsessed with the Guild. He has become insufferable, Bilbo! And not just to myself, I am quite thrilled to say. He’s become quite keen on learning who the Guild Master is. I think he fancies himself their pupil. How he has leapt to this conclusion, I have no idea, since his legs are so short. As you can imagine, the Guild has not at all be receptive to his...advances. I am laughing as I am writing this because I realise how similar this is to when he first courted Maribella! He is ever much the menace he was then.  _

_ But back to the story, I will chuckle about this later. The Guild is fiercely protective of their employer. Oddly so, if you ask me. But it does make a soul curious. It makes Garbadoc positively itch. You will laugh when you hear what he has done. His first inquiries were quite respectable. Everything that followed was not.  _

_ _ Bilbo shook his head, grinning widely and chuckled. As much as his grandfather liked to tease and insult Garbadoc in his letters, they were truly good friends. As evidenced by Garbadoc’s letters being written in the same fashion. He was glad Gerontius had someone he got along with so swimmingly. He was, however,  _ worried.  _ Just what had that old Brandybuck done now? Gerontius always had stories about his friend, each seeming more ridiculous than the last. He was quite looking forward to this one.

_ After his first attempts were spurned (haha!) by the Guild, he decided the best way to meet this Guild Master was to go into business with them. I think the business he chose would have actually been quite successful had he actually cared about it. It was like using the fertilizer as a step to see into the box garden instead of using the fertilizer in the garden itself! He was quite disappointed when he learned that the highest Member he could meet with was a certain Mr. Stok of Bree, who is the Guild Manager. So, of course, Garbadoc thought to himself that the next logical step was blackmail. He has since been banned from the Guild and has taken to dressing up as different characters to try and interact with them. I don’t think they are fooled. He even attempted to go as a dwarf once! _

_ _ Bilbo laughed outright this time. Perhaps he should just speak directly with Garbadoc. Perhaps he would be content to write letters and not meet in person. The issue was that entire Shire knew that the hobbit couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, and Bilbo wanted to continue protecting his grandfather (and subsequently the Shire) through the Guild. That would not be an option if anyone found out. But there were ways around it. 

_ I am looking forward to watching what else he’ll get himself into. A bit afraid as well, but the suspense is half the fun. I’ve had to bail him out of Bree’s prison twice now. You know the reason for the first, but the second has to do with the burglary of someone’s letters. But if you wish to know of them, then you shall have to visit! _

_ While I am on that subject, are you planning on returning yourself to me any time before I keel over and die? Or are you still galavanting who knows where with who knows who? I worry you know. It has not escaped my notice that your letters come with sand inside. Just where are you, my wayward grandson!?  _

_ I still have heard nary a peep from your mother, wherever she is. As angry and disappointed as I am with her, I still worry. Her letters have all been returned to me unopened and unable to be delivered. Is she gone, Bilbo? Am I angry with my dead daughter when I should be mourning her? Please tell me, Bilbo. _

_ _ All the mirth that had built up inside of Bilbo faded. No. His mother was not dead. She was flourishing in Thorin’s Halls with the rest of her family there. He couldn’t call them his because they didn’t belong to Bilbo anymore. And it had been his choice, hadn’t it? That choice, he had come to realise, hadn’t only affected him. In the Before, his grandfather died when Bilbo was in his sixties. Bilbo hoped to complete what he had to before his grandfather died so the two could be reunited. They would be angry with him, once they learned the truth. Even if that blasted spider could truly give their memories back, Bilbo thought it unlikely that they would ever be as they once were. He had stolen from both of them. A burglar indeed. He had stolen something much worse than anything material. He had stolen years spent together from them. If he kept thinking about it, he felt he would drown in the guilt that plagued him every day.

_ I’m ashamed to say that even after all she’s done, I still miss her. When I see her next, I’m going to hug her, knock her upside the head, and then hug her again! I’ve a mind to do the same to you too, Bilbo. Come home. You are well missed. I won’t be patient much longer.  _

_ You still haven’t told me what you’ve been doing these past ten years. No one that Garbadoc or I know have ever encountered you or even heard of you. A hobbit outside the Shire is hard to miss; which tells you must have gone very far away indeed. I should hope so. With the infrequency and delay of your replies, you have better be in the Land of the Sun! If I find you’ve been in Bree or the Blue Mountains or even with the Rangers all this time, I will box your ears in! _

_ You are my heir, even if you will never be allowed to hold anything but the title. You are the child of my heart and my most precious relative. Am I laying it on too thickly? Come visit then; I’ll hear your complaints in person and not any other way! _

_ Now, I must tell you what has happened in the Shire, for it is quite extraordinary. I know you’ve had dealings with the dwarves of the Blue Mountains. They’ve been in a shoddy state for quite some time now. Poor mismanagement on the part of their leaders combined with the influx of their population due to the destruction of one of their kingdoms has made them quite unable to sustain their need for produce. And wouldn’t you know it, the Guild has offered to partner with the Shire! They will cart supplies and food to them, and they, in turn, will offer their services as craftsmen to the Shire. When you return, you will see all the marvellous changes that have been made! It does not look like the same place you left and I am glad for it. Change is in the air, Bilbo, I feel it! _

_ I will let the Gamgee’s speak for themselves in their own letter, so I will close now for my hand is cramping and I can hear someone pounding at the door. Wish me luck and hope it isn’t any of our relatives. They are waiting quite impatiently for me to die, and make no secret of it; the shame! I am quite determined to dash their hopes away and live for a good long while yet. The Gamgee’s have had it with all the visitors I’ve had traipsing through my gardens and poking their noses where they do not belong. They are threatening to leave the Shire in search of you. Then who will tend all of Hobbiton’s gardens, hah! And I shall follow them, sand or no.  _

_ With love and a healthy dosing of filial guilt,  _

_ ‘Old Took’, Thain of the Shire.  _

Bilbo sighed with a smile, knowing that he would have to return his own lengthy letter to his grandfather next time he had a few hours to devote to writing his letters. Folding it and placing it back in the cheery envelope, he turned to the next. The wax seal popped off easily enough with the help of the small knife. It was from his manager, Mr. Stok. It was a pleasant fellow, intensely loyal and dedicated to his job. That did stop him from writing letter Bilbo would find himself laughing over. He looked forwards to what he had to say in this one. 

_ Guild Master,  _

_ I shall forewarn you: I have grievances with a certain hobbit to air once I have concluded with the business that I write to you of.  _

_ _ Bilbo grinned and shifted so he was lounging back on the crate and propped his feet up by his rump. The sun felt wonderful. He could see it streaming through the papers and illuminating the words from behind. The letters looked alive. Warmth and laughter that seemed to emanate from the very fibers of the pages, leaving Bilbo happy and content to stay where he was for the rest of the day. He kept reading. 

_ The Courier branch of the Guild is growing rapidly. We hardly have enough Members to support all the demands. Word has spread far and wide that the Guild and those carrying its sigil are trustworthy. You’ll be happy to note that people are beginning to equate the Guild with safety. Many Members have written me to inform you of the increasing occurrences where they have been asked to set up their stalls, booths, or caravans in front of stores by the owners to keep away trouble makers. It boosts our reputation and puts us in a favourable light. The Members are quite proud of this development.  _

_ I think that we shall have to hire again post haste. We don’t have enough Members in the Courier branch to support the demand for their services. I also must take this time to inform you that we’ve had some recent incidences of violence against our couriers. Three since I received your last letter three months ago. I think we must increase our correspondence. If I remember correctly you would be sailing north into South Gondor from Harad, correct? It should be no problem if that is the case.  _

_ Concerning the violence, I have taken the liberty of hiring Rangers as a short-term solution to protect our couriers. However, they cannot be relied upon forever. They have their own duties to perform as well. The only reason they agreed to my proposed arrangement in the first place was that they wished to barter for a discount on produce purchased from the Guild. We settled on the discount that will hold for the next twelve months. They will only be able to accommodate our couriers for six. I thought it a fair trade, though I hope I have not been overly presumptuous.  _

_ In your last letter, you suggested training the couriers as a long-term solution to a similar issue. At the time, I was less inclined to agree. Training them would be incredibly time-consuming and may damage our reputation for being reliable if we cannot meet demand. However, with the recent incidents in mind, I think you may be right. Couriers have begun to report orcs and bandits on the paths between cities. The garrison here in Bree has been keeping track of the locations for me. Our goal is to find some sort of pattern so we can find a safer route. For now, I think we should begin training them in batches. I shall begin immediately and adjust accordingly when I have received your letters. What are your final thoughts on the matter? _

_ There is much information that cannot be included in a letter, so I must urge you to visit Bree as soon as you are able. The Guild is quickly growing larger than I can handle myself. I have already hired an assistant to work with until you are able to find another manager you can trust.  _

_ In your last correspondence, you requested another report of the Line of Durin and the ‘Family Ri’ as you put it. They have all moved on from Belegost and into Thorin’s Halls. It has not been completed yet, but it is more or less inhabitable. I am told dwarves are most hardy people. My correspondent there says it is not nearly as grand as Erebor, but it is functional for their needs and superior to Nogrod and Belegost both. _

_ The Line of Durin is prospering. The dwarf named Thorin is quite busy, and from what I understand, disagreeable by many standards. His sister, D _ _ í _ _ s, and her wife, your mother, are happy and hale. Their children, F _ _ í _ _ li and K _ _ í _ _ li cause no end of trouble for their uncle, but otherwise seem well. Thanks to the new deal with the Shire, there is less hunger, though, it is not completely gone from those of lower station.  _

_ The Family Ri is an unfortunate recipient to the downfalls of poverty. The one named Dori works long hours in the fabric mills to support his younger brother, Ori and his middle brother, Nori, who seems more like a shadow than a person for all I’ve heard of him. Ori is doing well in his studies, though curious about his sponsor who is providing him such a thorough education. His work has caught the eye of Balin, the city advisor himself. All according to plan, if I know you.  _

_ As displeased as Dori is to take charity, he considers it ‘wasteful’ to leave the anonymous parcels to rot on their doorstep. If you had offered help to him, I doubt he would accept, but he seems to have a soft spot for his youngest brother, so cannot deny him anything. They both believe it is somehow the doing of their middle brother, who was quite the thief before he had to choose between becoming Thorin Oakenshield’s spymaster and going to prison.  _

_ And what is this I hear about expanding to this Aji City you speak of? It is my understanding that it is across the Southern Sea, correct? We have not even made it east of the Misty Mountains. I think it a bit ambitious and out of the way, but I have learned that when I question your eccentricities, business tends to suffer from it. I can only guess this city is where you’ve been the past few years. Why or how you ended up there, I suppose I’ll never know. My own subordinates often know more about your location and activities than I do. Fat lot that does for me when they won’t tell me a thing. Though, I should not complain about loyal Members who can keep a secret. Please continue sending more my way. They are all excellent workers and utterly devoted to the Guild. On another note, are you aware that you send sand along with your letters? _

_ But enough jesting. Now for my grievances: I must ask you once again, can we not move Guild headquarters out of walking distance of the Shire? Or better yet, can you not find some excuse to send Garbadoc Brandybuck somewhere far away? I care not what you might have him accomplish, anything to get him out of my hair and out of my business. He is a nuisance, I tell you! Just last month he committed mail fraud. Thankfully none of your letters were in those that he stole. The Rangers thought it was funny. But I assure you, I was not laughing. As you aware that he has attempted to bribe every Guild Member within a fifty-mile radius for your identity? Yes, we should move and tell no one where we go. Somewhere at least sixty miles away. Either that or save us the trouble of dealing with him and tell the ridiculous hobbit yourself! I shall not be liable for my behavior otherwise.  _

_ As always, copies of my reports, numbers, and charts are included in the parcel. Please look through them and indicate where you would like to make changes.  _

_ With respect, _

_ Mr. Endry Stok, Guild Manager.  _

  
  


_ _ Bilbo set the rest of the papers aside to look at later and moved on to the next level. Apart from the courier situation, all had been going well with the Guild. That was a relief. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to be away for so long after this. The Guild was growing too large. He would need to delegate more. Taking out the next letter, he saw it was from Ranger Garrick. Popping open the wax seal, he unfolded the papers and began reading.

_ Guild Master,  _

_ I have surveyed as much of the east as I can safely without venturing into dangerous territory too far south. Villages are few and far between. Other than the mysterious Mirkwood with it’s unfriendly inhabitants, there are no large cities to speak of since Erebor and DAle were destroyed in the dragon fire years ago. I assume export from one or both of those cities is responsible for the wealth this side of the Misty Mountains used to boast.  _

_ The land is widely untamed and much of it seems uninhabitable to me. Deserted cities have become safe havens for all manner of beasts and orcs. The larger towns that existed there before the dragon fire are in ruins now, largely abandoned when the farmland of the north was scorched. It makes for an inhospitable place. _

_ If I had to estimate, I would say that there are only a few thousand plains-people hiding about the whole of the east. Lake Town, which is where the descendants of Dale rebuilt, is less than a thousand in population and quite unwelcoming. They seem sickly and live in less than stellar conditions. Air is not well received. I think you would be hard-pressed to find customers in the east if you did not transplant them here yourself.  _

_ I think it prudent to mention the unrest in the kingdom of elves. While I was not able to ascertain the reason, it seems one of their people is missing. They must be high ranking or important if they are so concerned about it. They trust no one and suspect everyone. I am unsure if this is common behavior for their kind or not, because their kind rarely leaves their forest and I have not had dealings with them before. _

_ If you have further questions, please feel free to write me at any time. My wages have been taken care of thanks to your advance.  _

_ May we meet in peace again,  _

_ Garrick Bryson, Ranger of the North. _

_ _ Bilbo rolled his shoulder and sighed. It seemed he would have his work cut out for him. If he was to prevent the tragedy that occurred in the Before, he would have to change the world before it happened. They died in the Battle of Five Armies. But what if there had been armies between the orcs and Erebor? Would things have been different? At the very least, there would have been more aid. Not to mention now that Bilbo could no longer be officially recognized as the heir to the Chair of the Thain, Bilbo’s rank was significantly lower than Thorin’s would be. Even if nothing ever came of them in this life, Bilbo wanted everything to be in alignment in case the stars decided to cooperate. He tried pushed the thoughts out of his head, but they just kept creeping back in. He wasn’t even considered an adult yet by hobbit standards, and with the way he remembered being treated by Thorin in the Before, he had no way of knowing if they were even a possibility. 

_ Not to mention I can’t find it in myself to let myself get attached to anyone,  _ he thought, feeling tired. 

It was time to visit his grandfather again. Perhaps he could finally explain what had really happened. Not to mention Endry was growing tired of his absence. Once Bilbo told him of his plan to populate the east, he would pull his entire head of hair out. The man really did deserve a raise. Beyond all that, there was the continuation of his investigations to consider. He would need to get things in order before he began his next infiltration.

_ I can’t avoid it any longer,  _ he thought, staring over the ocean and listening to the Seagulls overhead.  _ I’ll have to go back to the Shire.  _

_ _ Standing, he stretched and felt his back pop, releasing tension that had built up as he had been sitting. Sifting through his papers, he began to read the reports. 

_ _ “Hanar! Karlin!” he called as he began walking towards where they were currently delegating low-ranking Guild Members in the shipyard. “I’m heading north tomorrow.”

_ _ They both smiled. 

_ _ Bilbo sighed. At least he wouldn’t have to face it alone. And Endry  _ had  _ asked him to bring him more loyal and hardworking Members. Perhaps they would enjoy the change of scenery. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo runs into Gandalf at a most unfortunate time...


	34. Concerning Ancient Friends and Old Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanar leaned against the stairs next to the sweating Man sitting across from Bilbo, listening in quietly. No one would bother them if they knew what was good for them. Unfortunately, not everyone did.
> 
> “Master Sting, I—”
> 
> “Bilbo Baggins, is that you?”
> 
> Bilbo stiffened. He knew that voice. He pressed his eyes closed for a moment and set up a quick prayer to the Green Lady for patience. Now was not the time.
> 
> “Honestly,” he huffed as he stared at where the wizard's head was poking through the part in the curtain. His long beard was pooling on the table. Bilbo was thankful he wasn't eating here. “You really do have the worst of timing, Gandalf.”

Bilbo folded his hands in his lap and smiled at the middle-aged Man sitting across the rickety table from him. The venue wasn't ideal, but the Swallow Inn and Tavern was known for its discretion as well as the questionable characters you would find there. Bilbo had been lucky to find the person he had been looking for here. The Man himself had not been lucky at all.

“As I see it, Mr. Wallis," he said in an amiable tone. "You have two options before you. Which will you choose?”

Harmin Wallis looked like he wanted to bolt. Only Hanar and Karlin's hovering presence beside them kept him from doing so. Sweat beaded on his opponent’s forehead and he scowled deeply, eyes shifting around the crowded tavern through the part where the curtain couldn't quite meet in the middle.

Bilbo sighed internally. He wished that the Man could be a little more discrete. If he could relax and stop acting as though he was up to something it would make Bilbo’s life infinitely easier. Fear caused people to do stupid things. Even from where they were concealed in the semi-private booth beneath the stairs at the back of the tavern, the curtain couldn't conceal everything. Especially if he kept pushing it out of the way to make sure no one was looking. Which of course they were, since he was being so incredibly obvious about it. Perhaps they should have rented a room upstairs after all for this little chat.

Karlin stood just on the other side of the curtain from him, trying to appear unconcerned with their location or Bilbo’s safety, but her instincts as a guard were deeply embedded in her so she wasn't completely successful. Hanar leaned against the stairs next to the Man sitting across from Bilbo, listening in quietly. No one would bother them if they knew what was good for them. Unfortunately, not everyone did. 

Swallowing thickly, the wide-eyed Man’s gaze darted back to him. He was a dime-a-dozen underling for one of the local Slave Markets. Everyone had to put food on their table, but Bilbo took issue with those who chose to do so through dishonourable means. Harmin Wallis had chosen to do so by 'collecting' people to become slaves, so Bilbo could not abide that.

He didn't feel poorly at all that the man was so notably fearful of him. Though, it was worth chuckling over purely from a stature standpoint. The 'young' hobbit was only about a third of his size, so hardly a recognizable threat in that regard. Perhaps his apprehension spoke more of his intelligence than Bilbo had first assumed he’d possessed.

“Master Sting, I—”

“Bilbo Baggins, is that you?”

Bilbo stiffened. He knew that voice. He pressed his eyes closed for a moment and set up a quick prayer to the Green Lady for patience. Now was _not _the time.

“Honestly,” he huffed as he stared at where the wizard's head was poking through the part in the curtain. His long beard was pooling on the table. Bilbo was thankful he wasn't eating here. “You really do have the worst of timing, Gandalf.”

The gray-clad stranger just smiled. Hanar was looking at the grizzled wizard with surprise. He’d simply poked his head through the opening in the curtain and stared at the occupants. Bilbo couldn’t exactly blame his guards for not acting in time to stop it. 

However, that didn’t change the fact that a piece of _ very _ valuable information had just been revealed to a member of the opposing side, and would need to be taken care of. _ Immediately. _

“Karlin, please take care of the tab,” he ordered, looking away from the bright eyes that were observing him sharply. Karlin nodded, though didn't look happy about it, shooting Gandalf a dark look of warning. “Hanar—” be began, but was cut off.

“Yes, Master, I’d be _happy_ to take care of it.” Hanar interrupted easily. Bilbo winced a bit at the title, but old habits died hard and the former slave had become good and attached to Bilbo. Of course, Hanar would be happy. He had wanted to do this himself in any case, but Bilbo had insisted he be the one to pose the questions. He needed a better gauge on the motivations of the underlings. Were they under threat? Was it just the money? Was there blackmail involved? Bilbo couldn't know unless he got answers to these questions and those answers would determine his next steps going forward. Hanar was by no means incapable or untrustowrthy. In fact, he was incredibly sharp, as evidenced by his easy-going smile that hid the calculation beneath. He traded seats with Bilbo and held his hand out to Harmin. “Mr. Wallis, I would be honoured to act as Master Sting’s proxy in this matter. I hope we work well together!” he said with a dazzling grin. 

The Man did not appear to be put at ease at all. He would, not doubt, be shipped off by the end of the night to work in some remote area where it would be easy for Guild Members to keep an eye on him and ensure he doesn’t spread the word. Poor fellow. If only Gandalf hadn’t come along. Though, at least now the man would be given a chance to try his hand at more reputable work. But that wasn’t important. Hanar would extract the desired information and take care of all the details. Bilbo had bigger things to worry about. Comically bigger things. Why were wizards so huge? They loomed over positively everyone! Gandalf appeared to more than most because he leaned on his staff while he talked to people. Add on top of that his ridiculous pointed hat and you had a recipe for make everyone feel very small indeed. 

Karlin returned quickly and whispered into his ear. 

“I’ve rented an inn room upstairs for you to hold this conversation.”

Bilbo raised his brows. “I can imagine the rumours now.” 

She smirked unapologetically, unworrrried about her reputation, and then turned to face Gandalf. “If you would follow me,” she spoke quietly and didn’t wait for an answer. She weaved her way through the crowd, her position making it clear that Bilbo was protected. She was at his back as they climbed the narrow stairs, and only once they reached the top did she detach herself from BIlbo to slip around them. Once directed to a room marked with a non-descript run, BIlbo thanked her. 

“I shall stand guard outside," she responded.

“Very good, Karlin, thank you.”

They were so much better behaved when they were in town. On the road, as they had been for the past month, their caravan was quite rowdy, taking great joy in the small skirmishes with orcs along the way. However, when they were in town, they took care to make a good and professional impression on everyone who saw them. Bilbo appreciated the delineation. 

“Gandalf,” he greeted once the door closed, turning to face the speculative wizard. “How did you recognize me?”

Huffing, Gandalf sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned forwards on his staff. Bilbo followed his lead and sat across from him on a small wooden chair mean for holding coats or clothing or, as he was told, one’s rump while they were putting on shoes. 

“I heard rumour of a young hobbit lord visiting Trystaan. What other ‘young hobbit lord’ could be found outside of the Shire but Belladonna’s son?”

Bilbo’s heart twisted slightly at the sound of her name. 

He grunted. “Well, you weren’t entirely wrong, now were you?” he hummed contemplatively. 

“And what then does your father think of all this? And what of these scars? I don’t remember you having them when I last met you.”

“The last we met was when I was a faunt of not-quite-ten. Time has passed. Things happen.”

“You are still a faunt according to hobbits, are you not? You look to be in the midst of adolescence,” he commented in a deceptively casual tone. 

Bilbo wasn’t fooled for a moment. “I am,” he didn’t deny it. 

“And who did you come with?” the elder’s eyes lit up for a moment. “Is Belladonna here? Where is she?” he asked, looking about the room as though she might just pop out of the woodwork.

“She’s not here,” he shook his head, feeling his long hair brush against his back through the linen shirt he wore. “I am alone.”

“Alone this time, you say? How odd.” 

Bilbo didn’t correct him. “Why were you looking for me? It couldn’t have been for no reason. As eccentric as you are, you rarely do anything on a whim.”

“Eccentric?” Gandalf’s eyes widened as though he was thinking about that. “Hmm. Perhaps you’re right. To answer your question, lad, I came to find you to see if you were finally ready for an adventure! Though, it seems like you’re already on one of your own.”

“It’s too early,” said Bilbo, shaking his head resolutely. I did, however, block out a period of time between 2941 and 2943 for an adventure.”

Gandalf laughed. “Have you now? Your sense of humour as grown as well, I see.”

Well, Bilbo’s sense of humour had been too subtle for Gandalf to understand the last time he had seen him. He chuckled to himself, remembering the Pleasant Pouch he had handed the man.

“Well then, I suppose I shall just have to keep inviting you. At the moment, I’m on a search for a very valuable map for Rohan’s King. Legends say it leads to underground caverns that hold secrets of old!” he said excitedly, his draping sleeves swinging and bouncing as he waved his arms about.

“No,” the hobbit smiled, but spoke firmly. He had other things he had to attend to. “I’m afraid I shall have to decline.”

“Very well, Bilbo Baggins. Since it appears you are not using that name outside of the Shire, who shall I address my letters to when I write to invite you again?”

“Send a missive through the Guild for Sting. Sure as spring rain it will come to me,” he assured. 

“Then I will do that,” the wizard smiled and nodded. “In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what has happened to create the person who sits before me now?”

Scoffing, Bilbo stood and turned towards the door. “Not a chance, old friend. Better to keep some mystery about me I think. It will keep you interested and me entertained.”

If Gandalf had been any less put out, he would not have huffed quite so hard. “Very well, then, friend. I will send you invitations until you accept one.”

“I’m counting on it.” Then a thought struck him, so he paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned back. “Do not be surprised if one day, you receive a similar invitation from me.”

Bilbo stayed long enough to see the curiosity burn just as brightly as the impatient wizard’s frustration. Then he opened the door and strode out, trusting Karling to follow. 

The last bought of the trip was made over the next two days. Trystaan was a good week’s walk from Bree, so he was grateful he was riding in a Caravan. Loathe as he was to admit it, he was looking forwards to being back, if for no other reason than to see his Grandfather, the Gamgees, and of course, Garbadoc. 

Hanar and Karlin were good company on the road. They were an interesting combination between Hanar’s positive cheeriness and Karlin’s furtive wariness. The two had formed a fast friendship with each other and Bilbo enjoyed watching the camaraderie between them. Their differences seemed to have no bearing in the matter at all. Or perhaps it did, and they just complemented each other. Well, Endry _ had _asked for more intensely loyal and upstanding Guild Members. Perhaps they would make their home in Bree.

He often found himself laughing as he watched the rough-house under the guise of ‘sparring’. How the had energy for that, Bilbo didn’t know. Perhaps it was because his soul was so old and tired that his body was starting to follow its lead. He was beginning to understand elves and their minimalistic mannerisms far better than he ever thought he would, even having lived with them for so many years. In an effort to avoid that, Bilbo increased his training with them and engaged in a few refreshing orc skirmishes to try and force himself out of that mindset. 

Endry’s reports had been correct. There were far more orc packs on the main road than what could be considered normal. Bilbo was troubled by this and made sure to mark it down on the map whenever they saw any. Had there been this man orcs out and about in the Before? He couldn’t remember. Certainly, that hadn’t been the case in the Shire, but what were the chances that what he had been doing in the far south had an impact of orc movements in the north? It wasn’t as far out of the realm of possibilities as Bilbo would have liked it to be. 

However, their attacks did provide some semblance of variation to break up the monotony. It was also a prime opportunity to train in action. In general, Bilbo never attacked unless first provoked. However, orcs were another story altogether. If he didn’t kill them when he saw them, they would go on to kill other people, likely innocent merchants and travellers. Not to mention eradicating them was good publicity for the Guild since they were all carrying its sigil on their weapons, shields, and armour. 

Hanar and Karlin, thought great fun on the road, were _ not _good company in battle. They worried too much and got distracted over what Bilbo was doing, calling out suggestions or accidentally giving away his tactics without meaning to. So, he had taken great pleasure in reassigning them from Point to the rear where they wouldn’t be able to see him while he fought. They had bemoaned the situation and promised to be better, but Bilbo stood firm. 

“I can’t grow as a swordsman if I have you who constantly hovering over me, ready to protect me,” he had told them firmly. “I must make my own mistakes so I can learn from them and deal with the consequences.”

He didn’t want to rely on another person for his safety, nor did he ever want to be under the delusion that he was _ safe _. That had been a hard lesson to learn, and he wouldn’t forget it. 

Bilbo was relieved as they came closer to Bree. Fewer and fewer orcs appeared in the countryside, though Bilbo had extended their scouting in search of them. He himself scouted as well since that was a skill he was interested in learning in preparation for the quest. That, and because he couldn’t stand the stillness and tranquillity. It brought back bad memories. Sometimes the greatest harm could hide in the most peaceful of places. 

He didn’t sit still well. He couldn’t remember the last time he had sat through tea without looking at reports or working through it. It was the perfect time to have a business meeting, in any case, so he remained productive. With the monotony taking hold once more, Bilbo felt uneasy. Trouble always came in quiet. At this point in his life, he should have been happy to feel that sense of security that each day would look no different than the last. But for some reason, he felt ancy. He hated staying in one place for too long. He hated being _ comfortable. _

Bilbo was fast on his feet as he darted through the trees a little ways from the well-worn path, feet silent in the brush. He was determined to find something. Anything. The trees were large, and he felt tiny in comparison. Like an insect. But he pushed on. The darker the day became, the less convinced he was that he would find anything at all. This area was just too peaceful. But even some bandits would be welcome at this point!

Just when the thought to turn back, a dark shape skittered across the branches above him. He skidded to a stop, freezing in place. No...could it be? 

A hissing equivalent of cackling laughter was his confirmation. He straightened his shoulders and turned to face the large spider that was perched, spread over a few thick branches that bowed slightly under the weight. 

“Well, well, look who has returned,” the spider rocked slightly.

Bilbo swallowed down the bile that rose in this throat. He had scouted too far from the caravan. There was no one around to hear him call out even if he thought that was a good idea. He was alone in this. Firming his stance, he tilted his chin up defiantly and started into one of its many shiny eyes.

“Well,” he began, his even voice belying the roiling ocean inside his stomach. “I can’t say it’s good to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo faces the two things he has the most trauma surrounding: Siethos and the Shire. Some things change, and others do not. Thankfully, he is not alone as he walks into the lion's den once more. His Haradrim friends stand beside him as he ventures into the Shire. Bilbo had thought that the Shire could never surprise him again. He was wrong in the best of ways.


	35. Concerning Things that Change and Things that Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo faces the two things he has the most trauma surrounding: Siethos and the Shire. Some things change, and others do not. Thankfully, he is not alone as he walks into the lion's den once more. His Haradrim friends stand beside him as he ventures into the Shire. Bilbo had thought that the Shire could never surprise him again. He was wrong.

The creature hissed out a cackling laugh, staring down at him from above. It was hard to see it in detail from where it was blocking out the filtered light from above. Bilbo was almost grateful for that fact. It would spare him the extra trauma.

“I’m actually surprised I haven’t seen you since Belegost,” he mentioned casually, folding his arms across his chest. “I would have expected you to stalk me.”

It swayed its massive body back and forth and replied, “Well, you went across the ocean. That was a dirty trick.”

Bilbo brightened considerably. “Really? I’m tempted to turn right back around and return.”

“You could,” the giant spider agreed. It sounded to Bilbo like there was amusement in its voice. “But you didn’t come here without reason. You never would have returned here without one. You’re too close to home.”

“Now that we can both agree on.”

Bilbo congratulated himself. He was doing well. Even if his hands were sweating and his head was swimming in the same childlike emotions of hatred and terror, he was keeping himself under control. Yes. He was doing well. 

“So why did you return?”

Bilbo scoffed and made a show of leaning against a nearby tree trunk, attempting to appear unconcerned. “As if I would tell a psychotic spider the size of my parlour about it.”

“My, my, how rude you are, hobbit! And here I thought all Yavanna’s children were pure-hearted and valued politeness and propriety. I have a name you know. I am no  _ thing  _ I am a  _ she! _ ”

_ Could have fooled me,  _ he thought, eyes focusing on the strange golden glow about ‘her’ that didn’t seem to come from the canopy above. All the ladies that he knew were fierce warriors of great intellect, worthy of respect and fear. This creature inspired no respect in him at all. Fear? Yes. Respect? Never. The golden lights seemed to dance a bit. He squinted, trying to make sense of the misplaced lighting. 

“Oh, you can see them, can you?” she turned to display her profile. 

There were so many of them! That wasn’t the light from the canopy at all! They were small orbs of golden lights that seemed stuck in the thick hair on her body. 

“Should I not be able to?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off them.

“Most creatures of this plain would not be able to. Wizards, perhaps a few elves, but that should be all. The fact that you can as one of the lowest beings on Arda...well…” she bent her legs so she was crouching, leaning her large head down to peer at him out of many shiny dark orbs that looks like tar to Bilbo. “I find it  _ interesting _ .” 

_ How lovely for me,  _ he thought faintly, wishing she would think nothing of him at all. “What are they?”

“Most of them are the lost things I collected in Belegost all those years ago. Don’t you remember?” the curiosity in her voice was just insulting!

_ I should just kill her now.  _

He was half tempted to, but she had told him she could give the memories back, and he wasn’t willing to risk them.

“How do I get them back?” demanded Bilbo through gritted teeth. 

“Successfully complete the quest, of course,” she seemed to shrug, such an odd movement on a spider, and said it as though it was a simple task. Bilbo was about to say as much before she began moving away through the branches. “Goodbye, my hobbit! Don’t worry,” she hissed. “We’ll meet again soon.”

Now Bilbo was worried, which he was sure was her intention. “I belong to no one,” he told her loudly, turning himself with grim determination and set his sights back to the caravan.

When he returned, the caravan was overjoyed to see him but worried when he didn’t speak much. He marked that place in the forest with red ink before doing the same over Belegost. He wouldn’t tell anyone who he had seen. She would simply eat them, claiming they were lost, if they were to go after her. So Bilbo found another way around the forest. 

The remainder of the trip took an extra day, but it was worth it when they ran into a larger orc pack. During the skirmish, he thought how strange it was that he used to be afraid of orcs. They seemed so easy to kill now. But he remembered his brothers teasing him about orcs that night that they camped at Weathertop halfway between Bree and Rivendale. He had been discomforted them, feeling edgy and worried. That had been the night where every dwarf there had truly felt allegiance to Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo had felt the same, after hearing such a magnificent tale. 

Now, he didn’t feel like the same person at all. That Bilbo had been mousy, easily frightened, and soft from comfort and inexperienced. That had since been remedied and now...Bilbo wasn’t sure what he was now, but he was fairly certain he wasn’t a hobbit. 

“Young Master?”

Bilbo sighed and turned to Hanar. “I do believe I’ve told you not to call me that,” he reminded gently. “I am not your master and you are not my slave.”

The young Man’s jaw set into a stubborn line. “I chose where my loyalties lie, young master, and I have chosen you.”

Bilbo shook his head and put his forehead in his hand. He was exhausted and he wasn’t willing to argue at the moment. They had just arrived in Bree and he was sitting with Hanar in one of the carriages as he waited to be let out at the inn. He would have to visit the Shire for at least two days, much as he didn’t want to see the hobbits there save his small circle of friends and family. From there, he would walk to Endry’s home and eventually migrate into the Guild headquarters once he could do so without being seen. Then he would finally be able to get some work done. 

“What is it?” asked Bilbo, referring to the first words the Man had spoken.

He straightened and held himself stiffly. “I would like to come with you into the Shire. Karlin wishes to accompany you as well.”

Bilbo quirked his lips. “I’m sure she does.”

The blond man scowled, looking worried. “My lord, please, don’t order us to send you alone into that horrid place!”

Barking out a laugh, Bilbo leaned back against the carriage wall to show as much ease as possible.  _ “Horrid?”  _ he scoffed. “It’s the Shire! Green hills and peace and all the comforts of home.”

“Not for you.”

Damn, but he was perceptive. And truth be told, Bilbo would feel better having them there, even if he was capable of holding his own against anything short of a troll. Some wars could not be fought with blades. Though, imagining the collective conniption the Shire would have if he ever tried gave him a small desire to chuckle. The Tooks would be all for it. The Brandybucks would be interested, but would likely refrain from doing anything obvious that could point accusatory fingers at them later.

“My lord?”

Hanar’s voice refocused him onto the topic. “Very well,” Bilbo relented, folding his hands behind his back. “I’ll allow you to come. But there are rules. As far as anyone is concerned, I am not affiliated in any way with the Guild and neither are you. We’ll stick to the truth a closely as possible and tell them we met in South Gondor if we’re asked. And—”

Hanar interjected. “Above all else, don’t give away any unnecessary information or draw unneeded attention, yes, Master Baggins, the same rules as always. It’s insulting you do not believe I will remember.”

“Then I shall not tell you again,” said Bilbo, grinning. 

“I’ll prove you don’t have to.”

So when he set out the next day, Bilbo brought them with him. Unlike the journey north, Hanar and Karlin were exceptionally quiet and solemn on their walk to the Shire. Walking had been the safest option if the goal was not to draw attention to himself. There was no need to ostracize himself from the inhabitants of the Shire any further by arriving in a wagon or carriage lest he be called pretentious. The old worn paths seemed eerily familiar to him, and he found himself gladdened by the prospect of walking with the two of them as opposed to only having the ghost of his mother’s memories to keep him company. 

He kept hearing her voice, telling him the meaning of different flowers, asking about something strange he had said, or singing elvish songs with him as they had made their way home from Bree all those years ago. It seemed like a lifetime. Bilbo did not feel like the same person.

He didn’t feel the anxiety settle over him until they crossed the Brandywine Bridge. It wasn’t the rushing water that gave him pause, but rather the dwarf that stood guard at the end. Interestingly enough, he was wearing the dwarven equivalent to the Bounder’s uniform, light leather and flexible cloth, and was equipt with the standard crossbow. 

“Good day, sir,” he greeted, voice belaying some of the confusion he felt. 

The dwarf squinted at him. “Who are you?”

Bilbo raised a brow. “These are my friends Hanar and Karlin.” He waved to them both in turn. Bilbo never thought of how they looked to other people. He had spent many years in Harad and had seen many Men and Women with skin as dark as shiny as theirs. But to northerners, he realized belatedly, they would stand out. He vaguely wondered how odd his own tanned skin would look. “And I am Bilbo Baggins, grandson of the Thain. And I am visiting home for a few days.”

The dwarrow’s bushy red eyebrows continued to rise as he spoke. Bilbo watched as he looked down at Bilbo’s missing tuft and then back up to his scars. He smiled tightly. As uncomfortable as it was, he really didn’t mind it because of how transparent he was. There was no trickery there, only honest curiosity and fact-checking. What bothered him was that this dwarf had heard of him before. 

“Welcome home then, Master Baggins.” He responded gruffly, nodding him in. 

“You have my thanks, Master dwarf.”

Bilbo nodded to the man as he passed, and his Haradrim friends both did the same.

The first hobbit they came upon was Mr. Tunnelly. When he looked up from his gardening, his brown eyes widened in shock. Bilbo was half-amused, half-insulted when the fisherman made no attempt to reply to his greetings, but instead clutched his straw hat tightly to his chest and scuttled into his smial.

“Fool,” Karlin spit in Haradrim. 

“Peace,” Bilbo replied in turn. 

He was expecting this. By no means did he believe a warm welcome to be waiting for him. This trend continued as he made his way through Whitfurrows and Frogmorton, though, they seemed more apt to gossip than run, even if they wouldn’t speak directly to him.

_ Is that Bilbo Baggins? _

_ Who are those Men with him?  _

_ Have you ever seen skin so dark? _

_ Why did he come back?  _

_ I bet it’s the Thain’s doing.  _

_ He had better not insist on naming Bilbo his heir again! _

Hanar’s face twisted in a snarl. “They should be so lucky.”

“And I should be so cursed,” grumbled Bilbo. At least both were smart enough to speak in Haradrim. Bilbo supposed that was all he could ask for. Requesting they stop trying to light the denizens of the Shire on fire with the fury of their gaze would have been too much altogether. 

Overall, the whole of East Farthing had not been terrible to go through. There had been no pitchforks or calls for his removal. Nasty remarks and impolite staring aside, it had been comfortable enough. But Bilbo expected more of the same as he crested over the hill that would reveal the Bywater, Hobbiton, and finally, beyond it, Bag End. That had not been the case. When he finally reached the top, Bilbo had been slack-jawed at the sight sprawled in front of him.

_ Colour,  _ he thought stupidly. It was all he could think. For, staring down into Hobbiton he stared upon colourful roads stretching out before him like a great tapestry, painted in a forever-unpredictable pattern that Bilbo could not decipher. There were  _ buildings  _ above ground, or perhaps the word ‘tents’ was more apt. Their ‘roofs’ were made up of bright colours: orange, yellow, green, and red. What lay hidden beneath them? When had all of this happened? 

And then his eyes alighted on Bag End. Bilbo began running down the hill, ignoring his friends’ worried exclamations. His mind flashed to the Before. 

_ I’m going on an adventure!  _ He had called as he had razed through all the shortcuts he knew to catch up with that rag-tag group of dwarves. Now he was running back the way he came, zigzagging through the fields, over the creek, through yards and over hills. 

Gerontius had been right in his last letters. The Shire was nothing like Bilbo remembered it. Metalwork was everywhere, and while it did hold a distinctively dwarven feel, the designs featured were of flowers and trees. Beautiful rot iron fences replaced the rickety wooden pike ones that used to surround gardens, and the street lanterns seemed bright somehow in their metal and glass boxes. Bilbo marvelled as he ran through it, staring down at the painted stone brick road beneath that he crossed every now and again. That had been a dirt road when he had last been in the Shire. The stones would have looked far more out of place if it hadn’t been for the mural that covered it depicting all manner of charming scenes from hobbit children curled around each other in sleeping piles and different parties and celebrations. 

The Shire had become a whimsical place full of a bright new energy it had never held before. Bilbo was sure there were some who detested the changes, but he couldn’t help but love them. The work that the dwarrow had put into creating something that hobbits would like was astounding. He could see where hobbit and dwarven craftsmanship melded together to create something new and useful and interesting. His heart felt lighter just seeing it. All the wagons, wheel barrels, and pull-carts seemed to be outfitted with new wheels, also painted in whatever the owner desired.

When he finally approached Bag End, he couldn’t help but gawk. He stared in wonder at the smail. He let his bag fall off his shoulder with a thump and listened to his friends huff as they caught up with him, slightly out of breath from the long walk and the game of chase Bilbo had inadvertently provided. 

“Couldn’t you have chosen a less direct path to get here?” Karlin asked sarcastically, hands on her knees. 

Bilbo grinned. “Sorry, it was a shortcut.”

Hanar grumbled something that roughly translated to: “If that was a shortcut, I am short enough to be considered a hobbit.” Which sounded much better in Haradrim.

Bilbo paid them no mind as they caught their breath. His attention as elsewhere.

Bag End.  It was his childhood home. He had lived there for well over a century between both his lifetimes, and he never thought it capable of surprising him. But he had been wrong. For, tucked away beneath the Hill was Bag End’s entry. The windows covered in swirling, delicate metalwork with meaningful flowers sprouting from the ‘vines’. The door had been given a frame that looked matched it, and Bilbo realized it was the beautiful way of putting bars over the windows. He could almost feel Gerontius’ intention behind them. He wanted Bilbo to feel safe in Bag End. 

Smiling  as he stepped up onto the stairs leading up the round door, he felt something cold beneath his foot. When he looked down, there were yet more flowers inlaid on the path! But these were made of coloured glass. And all of them spoke to Bilbo directly. 

Pink Carnations.  _ I will never forget you.  _

White chrysanthemum.  _ Truth.  _

Cinquefoil.  _ Beloved child.  _

Compass flower.  _ Faith.  _

Zinnia.  _ Thoughts of an absent friend. _

And finally, pimpernel.  _ Change.  _

That silly old hobbit had even planted rosemary along the path to symbolize remembrance as though Bilbo wouldn’t be able to see the obvious gestures his grandfather had prepared for him upon his eventual return. A return he did not yet know about. 

Tears gathered in his eyes, but he blinked them away because he couldn’t marvel at the metal and glass sculptures in the garden with everything was wobbling about so much. 

“Master Bilbo?” Karlin sounded worried and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. 

Patting her hand he pulled away to walk further up the steps. “I am fine, Karlin, Hanar,” he smiled, not caring if they saw the moisture in his eyes. “Everything is so changed!” he laughed. 

Hanar looked unsure. “And that is good?”

Breathing in the smells of the Shire, now with an undercurrent of something more grounding, of stone and mineral and metal, he closed his eyes and let the tear roll down his cheek and chill in the slight breeze. “Good?” he smiled, reaching back to pull at the cord tying his hair back and set his hair-free. “I had thought this place incapable of change. For once, I do not mind having been proven wrong.”

And then he turned around and put his hand on the doorknob. The now intricate latch gave off a musical-sounding series of clicks before it opened and the round green door swung wide. 

It wasn’t like he remembered. And he was so, so glad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo reunites with his grandfather and encounters Fortinbras...


	36. Concerning Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo reunites with his grandfather and encounters Fortinbras.

Like the rest of the Shire, Bag End was not as he’d left it. In order to protect it from being listed as vacant, his grandfather had moved in once it was clear neither Bilbo nor Belladonna would be returning to the Shire any time soon; and when _ he _ had moved in so had his knick-knacks, books, maps, and documents. By far, the largest change was his mother’s parlour. It had been transformed into a second library for the spillover of his father’s study. The whole affair made his heart ache a bit, but he embraced the feeling. It would be shameful to do anything but. 

Hanar and Karlin had stopped behind him when he’d halted in the archway that led to his mother’s parlour. Both were hunched over in the too-small space, eyes sharp as they scanned the room. They were too used to the danger. Bilbo immediately felt guilty for putting them on the alert. 

“Please excuse me,” he apologized. “It’s not quite as I left it, is all. Come, sit!” he waved at the two armchairs his mother and father used to occupy in the evenings. They still sat in the same places by the fireplace. 

Hanar relaxed and smiled, heading for the indicated seating area. Karlin nodded stiffly and made to follow her friend, but her movements held too much tension to be believed. Hanar was already sitting, looking comically large in comparison to the chair.

“I’ll put on a pot of tea,” he decided, wondering what he would find in the kitchen. 

“I can do it!” Hanar offered, making to stand, but froze the yellow armchair came with his rump. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

Bilbo cracked a grin, turning quickly. “No, no,” responded Bilbo as he tried to swallow his own laughter. “I haven’t made a proper pot in years.”

He walked away quickly, smirking when he saw Karlin pressing her lips together and avoiding eye contact with the Man. At least the tension in her face was of a different kind. “Very well, Master Bilbo,” she spoke with her usual controlled tone. “We shall wait here.”

“I know you’re laughing at me,” grumbled Hanar once he thought Bilbo was far enough away that he thought the hobbit wouldn’t be able to hear him. 

Karlin’s voice only trembled slightly in her mirth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bilbo hurried his steps, unable to suppress the grin. He was giddy. Almost delirious with the excess of emotions rolling through his system. Some of them were conflicting. There was the joy of seeing the Shire, the wonder of seeing its change, the hope that that change had brought, and the sense of familiarity of Bag End. But there was also fear, betrayal, and the desire to leave quickly. His smile faded. He wouldn’t stay long. Perhaps he could convince his grandfather to visit him in Bree for a while to extend their time together. But then again, Bilbo wasn’t sure if he was ready to reveal his occupation to his grandfather yet, and he surely would be unable to hide it if Gerontius stayed with him.

Bilbo was lost in thought as he stoked the woodstove. He was so distracted that when an almighty bang rang out through the house, he jumped in surprise, dropping the kettle on the cast iron stovetop. It clattered and rang, but Bilbo was already moving. He wasn’t the only one. 

Hanar and Karlin were tripping over themselves in their haste to detach their rumps from the armchairs. Bilbo blew right past them. They called out in protest, but he knew who it would be. When he rounded the corner and could see the entryway, he halted, staring at his grandfather. 

He was healthy and hale, though breathless from the run he had obviously taken to reach Bag End from his office. His cheeks were flushed a hardy red and his brown eyes swung wildly around the room, the round green door still swinging on its hinges behind him. 

“Bilbo!” he called, not seeing him from where he stood in his father’s study. 

He made to call out to him and let him know he was there. “Grandfather, I—”

Whipping around, Gerontius’ gaze finally landed on him. Bilbo barely had time to blink before he was enveloped in a great bear hug and his feet were off the floor. 

“You’re home!” he cried jubilantly, white curls bouncing as he nearly danced with joy. 

Hanar and Karlin were standing back, taking in the scene. Hanar was smiling hesitantly, though still looking uneasy. Karlin was glaring at his grandfather. Pulling away, he waved her off. 

“I am in no danger, there is no need to gaze at him so murderously. This is my grandfather, Gerontius Took, Thain of the Shire.” He explained with an apologetic smile to the elder hobbit. “Grandfather, these are Hanar and Karlin. They have been my faithful companions for many months.”

Finally releasing his hold completely, Gerontius hurried around him to hold out his hands to them. “You must forgive my grandson, but the tight-lipped little ingrate hasn’t mentioned you at all in his letters! But if you are truly a friend to Bilbo, then you are friend to me. Come, come! All of you sit.” He waved them back into the study, dragging Bilbo behind him firmly. “I’ll put on a pot of tea!” announced Gerontius in much the same voice Bilbo had used earlier. 

“Oh wow,” Hanar clapped, eyes wide as Gerontius hustled out of the room. “The family resemblance is astounding!” he teased. 

Bilbo snatched a throw pillow off his mother’s armchair to launch towards him, a smile on his face. He couldn’t be offended by such a comment even if it was meant to tease him. His grandfather was one of the best people Bilbo had ever known. 

“Bilbo, I’ve put the kettle on, but which leaves would you three like?” he called from deeper inside the smail. 

Bilbo looked to his friends. Karlin’s eyes had brightened. 

Hanar shrugged and waved to her. “As long as it’s sweet, I don’t care.”

“Well,” Karlin hedged. “While I was serving in Aji City, I heard about leaves in this region of the north called ‘long bottom leaf’.”

Bilbo blinked. Then he chuckled. “You can have some of that too, but I’m afraid that it isn’t tea.” He could understand the confusion. Westeron wasn’t her first language, and Gerontius had used the same word she’d associated with long bottom leaf. “This might be easier, would you like a fruity tea or an herbal tea?”

Karlin looked a bit confused but looked to Hanar. “I don’t care if it’s not long bottom leaf, really.”

Bilbo coughed. “Now, now, moderation is a necessity,” he mumbled, half to her, and half to himself. 

“Fruity?” Hanar offered. 

Bilbo relayed the information to his grandfather.

“What are you doing home so early?” he called in the direction of the kitchen, making himself at him on the rug in front of the fireplace, stretching out like a cat and grunting in satisfaction when his spine popped pleasantly. 

Hanar and Karlin looked amused. “I would try to offer my seat, but I do believe he thinks he has the better one,” she whispered to her friend, who nodded. 

Gerontius rounded the corner again, hands on his hips. “You have either forgotten how quickly word spreads in the Shire or you must think so low of me that I would not drop everything and run home when I heard you’d arrived! Which is it?” he squinted. 

Bilbo grinned. “I’m honoured you think so well of me as to drop everything and run even when there are more time-sensitive matters for you to attend to,” he replied diplomatically. 

“You are the most time-sensitive matter, as I have no doubt you do not plan to stay.”

“You would be right,” Bilbo nodded. “I will leave in a fortnight and continue my work outside the Shire.”

Though, he may leave Hanar and Karlin in either his grandfather’s or Endry’s hands, depending on how well they all got along.

“Well, there now.” Gerontius nodded, turning away. “You see then that I was right. I will take leave and have one of my son’s deal with matters while I am out.”

“Can you do that?” Bilbo’s brow creased in worry. “There was a lot of effort put into ousting you from the seat.”

Old Took waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not about to give it to Isumbras if that is what you are worried about. I rather think Isengrim would do a better job of it, seeing as he’s the detail-oriented sort, and would have no designs on the Thainship itself since he is a lazy sod.”

Bilbo winced slightly at the mention of Isumbras. Fortinbras father. Sitting up, he looked his grandfather in the eye and asked, “and what of Fortinbras? You have not mentioned much of anything in your letters of him.” He couldn’t help covering his hairless foot with one hand. 

Karlin looked alert. “Who is Fortinbras?”

“My cousin,” replied Bilbo at the same time as Gerontius replied, “the one who caused my grandson to leave.”

Karlin’s eyes flashed down to where Bilbo’s hand rested. The Thain nodded. “Aye, you have the right of it.”

Her brown eyes burned with intensity. “I should like to know what became of him as well.”

Bilbo knew well the desire for revenge, but he shook his head at her. He didn’t want her to take action in this. She settled back in response. 

Sighing, Gerontius leaned against the rounded door frame, oblivious to the silent conversation between them. “He is an exile in all but name. Though, the matter is not as cut and dry as one should like to believe.” 

Frowning, Bilbo leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“He is not the only one at fault. There were, of course, the other hobbits there, but who was to say who was there and who was not? He was the one unlucky enough to be singled out and remembered, but such is the risk of being a leader.”

Bilbo nodded. “That makes sense. If the Guild—” his speech jerked as he quickly changed his words. “—was ever accused of wrongdoing, the Guild Master would take the brunt of the punishment or retribution.”

Both Haradrim stiffened. Hanar shook his head. “The Guild Members would not allow it,” he insisted.

“Short of creating their own Kingdom, there would be little they could do against the forces of the Free Peoples,” interjected Karlin, looking dejected.

Gerontius studied them all with a critical eye, making Bilbo shift uncomfortably. “But back to Fortinbras,” he redirected, watching his grandfather expectantly.

The older hobbit nodded slowly. “He is ruined. No home, no one willing to give him honest work, no family that will take him in, and no future.”

Bilbo clenched his teeth against the wave of sympathy that came over him. It was difficult not to separate the Fortinbras Bilbo had known in his youth and the hobbit who had tortured him in an effort to have him exiled. They weren’t the same. 

“Even his father?”

“Especially his father. No matter that Isumbras made him what he became and encouraged his actions that day. He was a Took, yes, but the other Tooks hated him for what he did. Even his father, who has forsaken him, has felt the effect of his part in the matter. My other children refuse to speak to Isumbras.”

Bilbo sighed and leaned back on his hands, looking at the study’s ceiling. “This feels wrong.”

“You cannot think he does not deserve what has happened?” his grandfather asked incredulously. 

“I believe everyone must deal with the consequences of their own actions and come out on the other side having been better for it.” Bilbo stood and walked to the window to look out into the new Shire. He wondered where Fortinbras was within it. Would he look like Gollum? “However, there is no second chance for Fortinbras. No one will allow him that. So he will wallow away his days until he starves or is eaten by wild animals. This is not how it should be. No chance. No hope. No deliberation. A final cutting blow to decide a person’s fate.” He swept a hand for emphasis and then dropped it to his side. “Potential snuffed out in the face of a bad deed.”

The room was quiet for a moment before his grandfather spoke. “You speak as though you feel sympathy for him.”

“I do,” he admitted, turning to face them. His shadow was long on the floor and seemed to hold more darkness than usual. “I too have been found guilty of a single horrible betrayal, and cast away.” _ Throw him from the ramparts! _ “No second chance.” _ Thorin, please! _ “No room to speak.” _Go_ _ , go! _ “No true reconciliation.” _If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place. _ “And no way to right my wrong.” _ Thorin, hold on; the eagles are here... _

“What will you do?” Hanar finally asked. 

Bilbo turned back to the window and folded his hands behind his back. “...Who knows?” His internal tension was broken when the kettle began to whistle. “Oh! Tea!” he brightened considerably, ready to go fetch it from the kitchen. 

“No, no,” Gerontius waved him off. “Don’t think to deprive me the joy of taking care of my grandson again.”

Bilbo halted with a sheepish smile. It was reflexive, to act like this place was his home. In a way it was, but at the same time, it very much wasn’t. He couldn’t help but feel a bit lost here. “Hurry up then,” he shooed the older hobbit away cheerfully. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent in peaceful bliss, sharing tea and listening to stories while abstaining from telling many of their own. Bilbo was overheating between the fireplace, the tea, and the clothing that went down to his wrists and ankles to cover the manacle scars. If Gerontius noticed, he didn’t comment. 

Bilbo had slept in the room he had shared with his mother in those months between the Fell Winter and their subsequent journey to Belegost. He couldn’t sleep without being plagued by dreams of a blond elf he couldn't place. What sleep he did have was spent tossing and turning. The bed was too comfortable. Too empty. Too big. And he was just too small to find rest there. By the time the sky was turning a gentle blue that heralded the sunrise, Bilbo was out of the smial. 

He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going. But his heart was heavy with questions unanswered and he did not want Hanar, Karlin, or his grandfather to hover over him. 

The air was crisp and the stone path beneath his feet was chilly. The fog had yet to clear from the valleys, so as he descended Bagshot Row, he was engulfed by the cloud bank. He hardly noticed it when it happened. So wrapped up in his thoughts. He was so lost in thought that by the time he realized he’d been walking aimlessly for the better part of an hour, he felt somewhat lost. The mist had yet to clear and his visibility was horrendous. Awareness prickled at the hairs on the back of his neck and on his foot. Someone was nearby. Someone knew he was there. Someone was watching…

Was it the spider again? What could she possibly want?

“Bilbo Baggins…” a voice croaked from his left. 

He turned quickly, cursing his idiocy for not bringing anything more than two of his throwing knives. He put his hand on one of their hilts. The cloud he was in swirled away from his as he moved, trying to get the lurker into his line of sight. 

“You know the face that belongs to my name, but you have yet to reveal yours.”

The stillness that followed was utterly silent. And then Bilbo was being tackled. His head collided with the stone pathway. Grunting in pain and the sudden stench, he made to throw the other hobbit off. But he was persistent, clinging onto Bilbo and shoving him back down into the stone.

Bilbo grunted as his assailant slammed him down over and over again in desperation. Bilbo ignored the pain as best he could, curling his knees up towards his chest between him and the attacker so he could laugh hi off. The other hobbit went flying. Scrambling to his feet, Bilbo dropped into a battle-ready stance.

“Fortinbras?” he breathed. 

This was not the hobbit he had encountered that day long ago. His hair was nearly as long as Bilbos, but unlike his own golden tresses, Fortinbras’ dark hair was matted into a tangled, gnarled mess. His clothing was in tatters and he was filthy in every sense of the word. Bilbo was in guard, but the other hobbit didn’t make a move to stand back up from where he had tossed him.

“Why are you back?” he asked, curling into a small ball and picking at the caked dirt on his foot tufts. “Did you expect to find me dead?” he laughed bitterly, falling back to put the weight onto his hands.

“I try not to think about you much at all,” replied Bilbo honestly. “So I didn’t expect anything.”

Fortinbras nodded. “I suppose that’s fair.” 

Bilbo shifted his damaged foot behind the other when he saw the hobbit’s gaze flick to it. 

“So why did you come here? To gloat? To kill me? To make me admit my folly?”

“Folly?” Anger rose in Bilbo at the word. “_ Folly? _Is that truly what you believe it was?”

Wincing, his cousin clenched his jaw. “Just do what you came to do.”

Bilbo stared down at him, anger and logic warring inside of him as he did so. It took him several moments before he could speak again. “I did not come out here with the intention of finding you, cousin.”

For the first time, the dark-haired man met his gaze, eyes snapping up to his. Bilbo realized what he had called the man, and Gerontius’ words echoed in his head. _ No family to take him in…the Tooks hated him for what he did… _

“But I will not lie and say I had no hope of seeing you.”

“Seeing me suffer?” demanded Fortinbras, standing up quickly and clenching his fists at his sides. “Seeing me alone in the world, hungry, filthy, and disgusting? Does it please you?”

Bilbo could see old tear tracks through the dirt and grime on his face. “No, it does not.” He told him firmly. “I won’t lie to you. I haven’t forgiven you. I try not to think of you. And I wish I didn’t have to have anything to do with you. I’m not interested in causing you more suffering.”

“Then why would you want to see me?”

An idea quickly formed in his mind. “Because I want to offer you a chance to start over somewhere else.” It was impulsive, and Endry would have a conniption, but it wasn’t as though he hadn’t been headed in this direction for years. 

Fortinbras scoffed. “You can’t lure me into a false sense of security. There is nowhere in the Shire where I could possibly start over. There is no future for me!”

“Not in the Shire.” Bilbo cut him off. “You’re right. There is no more a place for you here in the Shire than there is for me.”

Fortinbras paled. “Outside the Shire? There are no hobbits outside the Shire! I would be alone my entire life!”

“Are you so small-minded that you think you could not find happiness anywhere else? Are the other Free Races so repulsive to you? I do not mean to send you into the wilderness alone.” Bilbo clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to shout or snarl at Fortinbras. He was not some sort of animal. He was the Guild Master, and he would behave with the confidence and skill that he had built up in himself to gain that title.

“Where?” he finally asked. 

Bilbo turned and looked to where the sun was rising, just now filtering through the clouds. “East of the Misty Mountains, there is a land that has been forsaken by those who settled it before. The ground needs a keeper. Who better to heal the ground than a hobbit who needs to heal himself?”

“East of the—” he sputtered. “I thought you said you weren’t sending me to the wilderness!”

Bilbo’s lip quirked up. So he had already decided. “I said I wasn’t sending you there _ alone _, Fortinbras.”

“Who will you send?”

“Any who wish to go. I’ve been collecting names and useful people for this task for quite some time. My connections will have a caravan ready to depart from Bree within the month. You’ll be taking the long way around, but trust me when I say it’s safer than attempting to traverse through Mirkwood.”

Fortinbras swallowed. “Why are you offering me this?”

A harsh, brittle laugh fell from his lips, and Bilbo scrubbed a hand through his hair, catching on the braid and bead pinned in a tight swirl to the back of his skull. “Because I wish someone had offered me a second chance.”

The two sat in silence until the sun had fully risen. Neither said anything else to the other. And when the mist had finally cleared, and the birds had stopped greeting the new day, Bilbo rose without a word and walked back up the way he came. It would be years before the two ever saw each other again, and more years still until Bilbo would stop feeling the fiery phantom pain of a day-long gone whenever he looked upon Fortinbras face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Bilbo is visited by his friend and manager, Mr. Endry Stok on business. It turns out that he is at his wit's end because of a certain hobbit that has made a nuisance of himself. Bilbo must make a decision concerning one Mr. Garbadoc Brandybuck.


	37. Concerning Endry's Nuisance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is visited by his friend, Mr. Endry Stok on business. It turns out that he is at his wit's end because of a certain hobbit that has made a nuisance of himself...

If Bilbo had thought that he would be able to look back at the remainder of his visit and describe it as uneventful, he couldn’t have been more wrong. For he had forgotten to factor in a rather indubitable force of nature: Garbadoc. 

Garbadoc was a pleasant fellow, Bilbo knew this to be true, but he was also an incredibly relentless one. And he had set his sights onto the Guild Master. Naively believing if he ignored it for long enough Garbadoc would simply give up and find something else to pursue, he had left it to a rather irritated Mr. Endry Stok to deal with in his stead while he saw to the dismantling of the slave market. However, it seemed those simple times were behind him. 

“Young Master, you _ must _take care of this!” Endry’s hand slapped against the wooden table Bag End to emphasize his point. 

For all his grandfather’s insistence that he was on leave, he hadn’t been able to escape _ all _ his duties, so Bilbo and his companions had the smail at their disposal. It was at such a convenient time that Bilbo had decided to pencil in a meeting with Endry, who had become rather insistent in his letters. Though, looking at the dishevelled man who had just barged in without so much as a ‘how do you do’, _ frantic _might be a more apt description. 

Bilbo sighed and raised his eyes from the papers he had been looking over. “Hello to you as well, Mr. Endry. I’m so glad to see you after such a long time!” he said brightly. 

His sarcasm was lost on no one. Karlin’s lip quirked ever so slightly and Hanar pressed his lips together to smother a grin, trying for all the world to appear as a fly on the wall. 

Endry took a deep breath. “Yes, it is indeed good to see you, my lord.” Bilbo nodded in appreciation, so Endry continued yelled. “But it would be better if I wasn’t looking over my shoulder in search of that confounded hobbit every second of my journey here! What if he followed me here to your residence?” he cried.

He sounded a bit too distraught.

_ He really is at his wit’s end, _thought Bilbo with a pang of guilt. 

“Calm down,” he advised soothingly, hand out in a placating manner. “I had already thought of that. Garbadoc is in Took Borough with my grandfather for the next day and a half. That is why I scheduled our meeting for this afternoon,” he explained setting his teacup lightly on its saucer.

Endry collapsed in the chair across from him, relieved. Bilbo poured him a cup of tea. 

“I’m terribly sorry I haven’t looked into this matter before,” he lamented. “I hadn’t thought it so serious for you to be so worried.”

Endry scrubbed a hand over his face in agitation. “No, no, I should have been more direct in my request. I’m afraid the way I wrote of it conveyed more humour than urgency.”

“No harm done to me, good fellow, though not so to you, it seems. What has he done this time?” Bilbo smoothed his hands over the documents in front of him to give them something to do.

Endry sank his fingers into his hair, leaning over the table. 

_ My goodness, whatever has Garbadoc done to my poor manager?! _

“He has waylaid my carriage four times in the past week while I’ve been travelling with my family. Scared my poor Anathelle to death!” he cried. “She is such a wee little thing, not even four winters yet, and he opened the door, exclaiming that he had found you. He is half-mad, my lord!”

Bilbo groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Garbadoc, what are you doing?”

“He is obsessed,” muttered Hanar. 

Bilbo returned his gaze to him. “What do you know of him?” he asked with curiosity. 

Hanar straightened. “Beg your pardon for interrupting, Mr. Stok,” he nodded at Endry respectfully who returned the gesture before turning back to Bilbo to answer his question. “While we pause in Bree, I had the opportunity to speak with some of the guards in the Guild Building. They told me some rather…interesting stories of him, young master,” he replied, deep enough in thought that he didn’t notice the glare Bilbo sent his way at the use of title. 

Bilbo didn’t want these two to refer to him as such. It had entirely separate cultural connotations to the Haradrim than it did for Mr. Stok and he did not want there to be any misconceptions. He may have to have a conversation with them about it later. 

Hanar continued, “including, though not limited to attempting bribery, burglary, and an unfortunate incident with a lantern that cause the casualty of more than one handbarrow.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows in incredulity. “Fire, Endry? Why have I not heard of this?”

“It only just happened but a fortnight ago while you were in town, my lord. You were preparing to travel to the Shire and I am well aware it is not the easiest place for you to traverse.”

Bilbo smiled at his friend. “I thank you for your consideration.” He told the Man sincerely. Endry was the best sort of person. Compassionate, dedicated, and observant. Bilbo had to tamp down his desire to compliment the Man on these traits on more than one occasion. 

Bilbo also wanted to praise him for his speech. When they had first met, he had had an entirely different cadence and vocabulary. Now you would never know of his meagre upbringings. He had been dealt a rough hand in life, but he hadn’t let it stop him. As the head manager for the most prestigious Guild on Middle Earth, he was competent, wealthy, and entirely respectable. A rare combination, in Bilbo’s experience. 

“I will take care of it,” he decided. “ It’s been a decade. That’s roughly a tenth of his life. At the rate he’s going, it’s not likely he’ll slow down anytime soon.”

“What will you do?” Karlin wondered, leaning against the dining room hutch. 

“I’m not entirely certain yet, but it boils down to two options. Tell him or mislead him.”

Endry twitched. “I’ve put so much work into keeping him away,” he muttered. 

Bilbo reached out and collapsed his hand. “How about this as a promise: you shall never have to see him again if I tell him.”

The manager looked interested. “That is a tempting offer.” He almost growled.

“Wonderful!” enthused the hobbit, trying not to laugh just a little. “Now I shall have to decide. I will only tell him if I believe he will be of some use to the Guild.”

Making a face, Endry asked. “_ ‘Use’ _ as you found for that forsaken cousin of yours?”

When both Haradrims started and Hanar made a sound of distress, Bilbo sighed and grumbled. “Thank you for saying that in front of them, Endry, very helpful.” He dropped the sarcasm from his tone to answer him seriously. “But yes. I do not know whether Garbadoc would be interested in staying the Shire or not. I would wager to guess that he is. I don’t want him working on the Ered Luin project. That is too close to Belladonna and I do not want them to cross paths,” he murmured, interlacing his fingers with each other and setting his chin on the bridge they made.

“I am so fortunate I do not have your position,” Endry intoned. “I would be lost with all your moving pieces.”

Bilbo scoffed out a laugh, raising his head and sitting back. “It is not as though I always know what I am doing. I make mistakes. Quite obviously,” he gestured to his manager. “You’ve been dealing with such a troublesome nuisance for a decade and I have been quite oblivious. I must take this opportunity to reach out for my other regional managers and see how they fare.”

Endry brightened at the prospect. “They would enjoy that, Young Master! I keep an eye on them and carefully check their reports. It helps that you have two anonymous reporters so no numbers can be skewed without me knowing. You seem to have a knack for gathering trustworthy people.”

Bilbo shook his head. “I cannot possibly take credit for that. They must be gifts from the Valar themselves,” he waved the notion away. “Now, let us look over your brief.”

“Yes, sire!”

The remainder of the afternoon passed amiably. Business came before pleasure, but once they were finished, Bilbo retrieved the good wine and made a wonderful meal. The Haradrim had been as unsettled by Bilbo’s offer to serve them so as Endry was, but they all accepted it graciously. Bilbo liked to think they enjoyed the meal. 

Songs were sung and Bilbo sang a few of his own towards the end. As neither a great musician nor a wonderful composer, they were simple but deep enough in meaning that it stirred emotions in his three companions even if they did not understand the full extent of his lyrics. Bilbo would remember the pleasant evening with fondness for many winters to come whenever he heard the cheerful crackling of a fire in a hearth.

Endry stayed the night and Bilbo pushed two mattresses together so it would be long enough for him to sleep comfortably on. The Haradrim were set up in the human-sized bedroom that was situated next to Bilbo's. They seemed to prefer sharing space and much as Bilbo made it a point of seeking out solitude. He bid them goodnight and closed the door on his drowsy friends, candle in hand.

_ Now for Garbadoc, _ he thought as he walked down the hall of Bag End and into his father's study. 

The next morning, Bilbo stood from his writing desk and stretched. He had worked through the night again without realizing it. He would most assuredly receive a stern talking to from his subordinates if they found out. And, judging by the gentle glow in the eastern sky, he didn't have much time before they were up and about. Hurrying through his morning hygiene routine as the sun rose, he made a point of changing clothes and carefully brushing out and oiling his long curls. Once he emerged, he felt like a new person.

Endry was sitting with Hanar and Karlin at the breakfast table in the kitchen when he finally made his appearance. Their conversation paused.

“You’ve decided then?” the Guild manager guessed, raising an eyebrow. 

Bilbo smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Garbadoc has wanted to meet the Guild Master since he heard tell of him over a decade ago. All his attempts thus far have been unsuccessful. He never expected the Guild Master to seek HIM out! Or for the guards that usually warded against his unwanted presence to practically kidnap him to do it!


	38. Concerning the Guildmaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garbadoc has wanted to meet the Guild Master since he heard tell of him over a decade ago. All his attempts thus far have been unsuccessful. He never expected the Guild Master to seek HIM out! Or for the guards that usually warded against his unwanted presence to practically kidnap him to do it!

Garbadoc whistled a merry little tune as he waltzed down Bree’s main road. The song had been a stroke of genius on his part last night at the pub, if he did say so himself. Really, the Green Dragon should be thanking him for his free marketing. Ah yes, a night at the pub had been just the ticket after a dull and tiresome journey with Gerontius down to Tookland. The old geezer hadn’t shut up about Bilbo the entire trip, and though he was eager to see the lad himself, he would have to do so without Gerontius there to narrate the whole experience. But for today, he’d let them reconnect while he minded his own business. After all, today was an entirely new and fresh day; and thus, a perfect day for a visit to the Guild.

Ah, yes. He was in a splendid mood today! How could he not be, what with the rumour mill spinning itself into a tizzy over the Guild’s most recent bought of activity? And if the rumour mill was buzzing, that meant something _ interesting _ was happening, and this time it was _ not _caused by Garbadoc. 

“Hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hmmmmmm~” he put a little skip in his step and sang under his breath. “Comes from the Green Dragon-” his song ended as he called out a greeting to one of the stable boys. “Morning, Lassul!”

The handsome young lad gave him a slightly exasperated smile. “Good morning to you as well, Mr. Brandybuck,” he returned, shaking his head with a grin and returning to the trough he was filling from the well. 

Garbadoc just smiled broadly in answer and redirected his attention to the large ‘u’ shaped building and approached the gate that stretched across the opening. That had been a hasty installation soon after the hobbit had begun showing..._ dedicated _interest in the Guild…

_ Thank Yavanna the entire thing is made of clay and stone, _ he thought to himself. _ Otherwise, that wee little accident a few weeks ago with the flaming wheelbarrow would have ended in an altogether unpleasant way. _

The gate was open wide today, and the courtyard beyond was filled with Men, Women, and dwarves running this way and that. 

“My goodness, you’d almost think something interesting was happening today,” he said casually, strolling up to his favourite guard, Jemny. He stood at his post at the front gate with his shift-companion, Emrin, who was busy documenting the arrival of a new cart, and so did not look up to greet him right away. He turned his attention back to his favourite. The middle-aged Man was exceptionally easy to bother and it did his old heart good to tease the high-strung guard just a bit. Never mind that it had become quite the amusing past time. The curled lip and disgusted face he was always greeted with upon arrival made it even better. He watched closely, eyes twinkling, not wanting to miss such a funny response. 

“Why, hello, Mr. Brandybuck!” he responded, with overdone cheerfulness that seemed too sincere. “Yes, indeed. The Guild Master is in.”

Both disconcerted for the smile on the usually surly guard’s face and the information he had so freely shared, Garbadoc rocked back on his heels to get a better look at the building. As uncomfortable as he was at the change, Jemny’s sudden and disappointing change of heart toward him would have to wait until later. “The Guild Master is here? Now?” he asked, somewhat warily. 

“That’s right,” Emrin smiled. She had a lot of teeth. “And he is so looking forwards to seeing you! Isn’t that right, Jemny?”

Jemny returned her unsettling smile. “Right you are indeed, my dear Emrin. After all,” he turned his brown eyes back to Garbadoc. “We’ve been expecting him, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have.”

Garbadoc needed to make a hasty retreat. The Guild was obviously planning to kill him and get rid of his disassembled body in all these carts. He may have pushed a bit too far last time he had graced them with his presence. 

He made to make a hasty retreat. “Well, I was just on my way to the butcher’s, so I’ll leave you now—” he was halted abruptly by a firm hand on his collar. 

“Oh no you don’t!” the Woman laughed much too loudly. It sounded almost unhinged. “We’ll escort you inside so you can finally meet our Guild Master.” Emrin informed him, calling over to another pair of guards to take over their post.

Garbadoc swallowed and gave her the best smile he could muster. “Well, now, as lovely as that would be, unfortunately, I am really quite busy today; so I must be going.”

Neither of them listened.

So that is how it was that Garbadoc found himself being dragged quite unceremoniously into the depths of the Guild building. His feet pulled lines through the caked dirt on the cobblestone that lead up to the building. 

“What’s the matter?” Jemny grinned, wolfishly. “I thought you _ wanted _ to be invited inside. It’s only been _ ten years of incessant nagging, petty crimes, and pranks. _”

“Well, well, you see, I—” the hobbit spluttered, trying to come up with anything to live to die another day. He eventually gave up. “Oh bother.”

He allowed himself to be pulled through the building and up the staircase at the back of the building. He had only ever seen the interior of the Guild building a handful of times, seeing as it was for authorized personnel only. So he’d never gotten the chance to look at much of anything. 

The Guild headquarters wasn’t any great work of architecture like those that he had seen in Gondor, nor was it particularly beautiful like any he had seen in Rivendell. Instead, it’s charm relied in the efficiency and function of its layout. Worker buzzed like bees in a synchronized dance that only they knew as they went about their duties in this grand and industrious hive. Garbadoc could hardly tell what any of the areas were intended for, but that hardly mattered when the workers so obviously did.

As a traveller and scholar of civilization and culture, he was intrigued every time he entered into the building. It had been Belladonna who had encouraged him to travel. She and his own wife had been the ones to give him the final push to pursue the knowledge he so desperately craved. He rather thought his wife liked it best when he was out of town, he often thought with no small portion of internal grumbling. Apparently she got much more done when he was away. 

Garbadoc had been all over the west, exploring and documenting the people he had found. All but the dwarves, of course. They were particularly stingy with their culture, language and art. Which only made it even more fascinating that the guild had managed to create such a useful alliance between their people and the hobbits that benefited all parties involved. He thought the Guild Master must be a dwarf himself in order to have managed such access to negotiation with those closed-off people. 

As he craned his neck around the room, he took in all the information he could get. Men, Women, dwarves, and even an elf were gathered around a large drafting table over some sort of building design. What were they doing? What was it for? Just how far was the Guild planning on branching out? Were they delving into architecture as well as their more recent courier services? 

When one of the dwarves rolled up the plans and turned to give a firm handshake to the Woman he stood beside, Garbadoc realized that this was likely a new building plan they had outsourced. But for what? For where? He had so many questions. Suddenly he didn’t feel like escaping at all. The stairwell cut off his sight of the bustling main floor as they began to ascend. 

The second story was not like the first. It seemed to be comprised of the main hallway that echoed the shape of the overall building and gave access to the many rooms that sprouts off of it. 

“Here we are,” Emrin said cheerfully as she pulled the door to a room at the far end of the hall open. 

From what he could tell, this room seemed to be a consultation parlour of sorts. He was seated on a padded sofa that faced away from the door. The chair was remarkably sized for hobbits, though, from the design elements that it incorporated into it, it was clear it was meant to appeal more towards dwarves. His suspicion that the Guild Master was a dwarf was becoming more and more likely, especially considering the size of the green wingback chair across from him that was obviously purposed for the Guild Master. 

“Well, we’ll be going then. You’ll wait here until the Guild Master comes to see you.”

Jemny gave a disturbingly cheerful wave as he turned to leave the room. “We do hope your visit is..._ productive. _”

Emrin was already out the door. “And worthwhile,” she added with a laugh, sounding as though she had made quick work of heading back down the hall they had just traipsed through. 

“Ta-ta!” Jemny mocked and closed the door. 

The room was suddenly very quiet and he could no longer hear the sounds of people around the building. It was disconcerting. The sofa squeaked beneath him as he shifted. His brow beaded with sweat. He distracted himself by cataloguing the four small windows that were near the ceiling across from him on the longest wall. There wasn’t much else to do, seeing as the room was tastefully yet sparsely furnished with a simple display shelf on the wall to his right and a seating area atop of fluffy rug. His toes wiggled at the feathery sensation. 

Wondering how much time he had left, he peeked over at the shelf again. There were interesting sculptures atop it in vibrant and exotic colours. He leaned closer to them. Hypothetically, he could get a closer look at them and maybe even hold one before the Guild Master came. He could sit back down quickly enough, right? And now that he was thoroughly distracted and curious, his anxiety about this meeting had been mostly pushed to the back of his mind, along with the majority of his good judgement. 

So, of course, he stood and walked over to the shelf. The statue that drew his eye most was a piece of pottery that was shaped like a great bird in flight but painted a robin’s egg blue. It was a striking and somewhat odd combination. The feathers were decorated with pops of reds and yellows and darker blues. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, and he was well and truly entranced by it. Save for the untraditional colours, it looked lifelike. His hand reached up, fingers extended to brush lightly against it. 

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” A voice startled in from beside him. 

Garbadoc let out a small scream he would never admit to, jumping in fright. And, of course, when he had startled, his hand had knocked against the sculpture and it began to fall. His gaze snapped back to it and away from the Man standing beside him in time to watch it teeter and fall off the edge of the shelf. It fell quickly, the bulk of it heavy. Garbadoc reached out his hands to catch it. 

He was beat to the chase when the Man caught it instead. “And that’s why,” he sighed. “With these tiny bird feet it's propped on, the structure is imbalance and it likely to tip and fall at the slightest touch.” He complained, setting it back on the shelf. 

“Hanar, if you had broken that gift from Danjo, I wouldn’t know where to find the remnants of your body.” A Woman raised a thick, dark brow at her compatriot. 

He winced. “It would depend on which one of them got to me first.”

Garbadoc stared at them. They weren’t like anything he had ever seen. Their skill looked like the bark of the strongest trees, but smooth and supple. They wore clothing he had never seen before. White garments wrapped and tied around their bodies in a hundred different placed. Both had a feathers—not unlike the painted feathers of the bird Garbadoc had almost destroyed—hanging on a leather cord and bead, tucked behind their right ears. For some reason, their appearance brought some niggling sense of familiarity in the back of his mind. Something Gerontius had said, perhaps? If only he had been listening. It was too late for that now. 

“My apologies for startling you, Mr. Brandybuck.” The Man bowed slightly, motioning for him to sit back down. 

So was the Guild Master one of these two? That didn’t seem quite right. But he didn’t want to insult them, so he bowed in their general direction. “It is an honour to finally greet you, Guild Master.” He spoke formally.

A small grin quirked Hanar’s lips and he laughed a bit. “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong. Neither of us are the Guild Master. He will be in shortly. We came to offer you the option of refreshments while you waited.”

“Oh,” Garbadoc responded, stupidly. “No, that’s quite alright. I’m afraid my nerves won’t allow it.”

“That’s not an issue,” the Woman said firmly. “We have tea.”

She said it like it was the cure to whatever ailed you. Garbadoc wasn’t about to disagree with her insistence. “Ah, very well then, I would enjoy that.”

She nodded, face relaxing just a bit. Garbadoc wondered if that was her version of a smile. Then she turned and strode out of the room. 

“Cheerful, that one,” he commented, smiling. 

Hanar nodded in agreement. “Karlin is much happier these days.”

The hobbit wasn’t sure if the Man simply didn’t understand sarcasm or if there was a language barrier. His accent suggested so, so he wondered if it was a cultural difference. “So what do you do for the Guild?” he settled on. 

The Man’s face bloomed into a large grin. “Karlin and I watch over the Guild Master.”

“So you are attendants or bodyguards or-”

“I like to think of myself as more of a retainer.”

Interested word choice. Does he consider the Guild Master some sort of royalty? “And Ms. Karlin?”

He shrugged. “Karlin says it doesn’t matter what we are called so long as we do our jobs.”

Garbadoc had to grin at that. “She sounds like my wife.”

He heard the door open behind them and Garbadoc turned to face it, a ‘thank you’ on his lips. But once he met those familiar eyes, he froze. He had expected tea. He had most certainly not expected Bilbo Baggins. The lad was nearly unrecognizable, save for the distinct scarring that had faded very little over the years. In fact, if Garbadoc was correct, he had added to his collection while he had been away. Then his eyes caught on the dark red feather tucked behind Bilbo’s ear. 

“Bilbo?” he asked, brain still trying to keep up with what was going on. 

“Mr. Brandybuck, may I present to you the Guild Master, Bilbo Baggins.”

_ “Bilbo Baggins?” _he nearly shrieked. 

What in all Arda was happening?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Hanar struggles with many emotions as he watches his young master navigate a distressing conversation with Garbadoc Brandybuck. What is it that Bilbo could possibly want from this irreverent fool?


	39. Concerning Garbadoc's Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanar struggles with many emotions as he watches his young master navigate a distressing conversation with Garbadoc Brandybuck. What is it that Bilbo could possibly want from this irreverent fool?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, you guys. I meant to get this out sooner but honestly, my cognitive function has been really low so I've been working on this chapter all month. This is...the fourth draft? I think? It's been hectic on my end. Life circumstances really kicked me while I was down this month! I hope all of you are safe and healthy!
> 
> Please enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!

Rarely did Hanar find something more interesting to observe than watching his young master’s plans come to fruition. Though still considered a young hobbit, Bilbo Baggins rarely behaved like one; which made it all the more fascinating—and oddly relieving—to see the mischief in his expression as a response to Garbadoc Brandybuck’s state of shock. 

“What in Yavanna’s name—how?!” the older hobbit demanded. “All this time?”

Hanar unconsciously followed Bilbo’s body language as he shifted so he was turned slightly away from Garbadoc. To the untrained eye, it would seem insignificant; but to Hanar—and likely Karlin if she’d been present—he understood this unconscious movement as defensive. Bilbo Baggins was making himself as small a target as possible. Hanar sincerely doubted this hobbit had the necessary mastery of any combat style or weaponry needed to cause Bilbo any physical harm, so he sensed it was more of an emotional response than anything else. With his past concerning those of his kind, it was understandable.

Needing to break the tension and dissolve any sort of power Garbadoc had over Bilbo, he leaned in over his shoulder and spoke cheerfully. “You look unsteady, Mr. Brandybuck, please have a seat. Karlin will return with the tea soon.” 

Garbadoc twitched at his sudden proximity but did as requested. “Bilbo, please tell me what is going on here! Are you truly the Guild Master? How could I believe such a thing?”

Hanar continued to smile from where he stood behind the rude stranger, but he could feel a little seed of irritation rising. He wished Karlin was here to help give him more perspective. Ultimately, this hobbit meant very little in the grand scheme of things and so was not worth getting worked up over, no matter how much aggravating he might be.

Bilbo blinked, taking a seat as well. “I honestly hadn’t considered that you might not believe it to be true. But honestly, Garbadoc, how on earth would I have gotten in this position to pull a joke on you?”

Mr. Brandybuck appeared to sit with that for a moment, leaning back against the chair. “I won’t lie to you, Bilbo. Frankly, it’s too much to ask me to believe you’ve created all this. How did you even do this? _ When _did you do this? Did you even ever leave? We thought you were gone! If you weren’t then why didn’t you ever say so? Have you always been the Guild Master or did you become him later? Who started it? Why—”

Bilbo held up his hands as if to shield himself from the barrage of questions. “Peace! Peace, Garbadoc. I cannot possibly answer every single question you conjure up. I will give you leave to ask any three questions. It is up to you if you choose to believe my answers or not.”

Garbadoc slapped the sofa beside his leg, glaring at Bilbo with something between frustration and anger. “How could three possibly be enough!?” his voice was loud in the space.

Unable to let this go any further, he placed his hands on the back of the sofa and leaned over Garbadoc with the kindest smile he could muster. “Now, now,” he began, trying to keep his voice from going cold. “Our master has graciously allowed you this leniency. How lucky you are, Mr. Brandybuck! However, in my homeland, it is said that luck only fancies the wise. Take care, less you lose your fortune, sir.”

Hanar hadn’t _ meant _it to come out quite so threateningly, but it had and there was nothing to be done. 

“Hanar, please don’t frighten my guest,” Bilbo ordered, motioning him to stand behind his chair instead. 

“My apologies, young master,” he murmured as he approached, before turning and looking at Garbadoc with as sincere a smile as he could muster. “I sincerely hope fortune continues to favour you, Mr. Brandybuck.” _Don't overstep yourself._

“Right,” the hobbit cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

“Let’s move on to your first question. Oh! Tea. Thank you, Karlin,” Bilbo smiled as he was served his cup and saucer. Karlin must have some understanding of the energy in the room at the moment, because the subtle choice to serve Bilbo first was not lost to anyone. There was a hierarchy here, and it would be upheld. Hanar wished his threats could be as subtle as hers. But alas, he was not nearly as patient, stoic, or clever as his comrade. So he would play his own part as best he could. 

“Of course, I shouldn’t have to tell you that any information you take out of this meeting, including my identity, is not to be shared with anyone,” continued Bilbo, when Garbadoc had yet to speak. 

“Very well,” the older hobbit relented with a sigh as Karlin came to her place beside Hanar, standing guard over their chosen master with him. “You must understand how odd all of this is. As an elder, to show such respect to someone younger than I is not something I’m used to.”

_ In that case, I highly suggest you become accustomed quickly. _Hanar thought with a bright smile. 

“My first question to you is this: how are you the founder of the Guild?”

_ A clever question, _ he thought. _ Because how Bilbo responds will answer more than one question. Firstly, if he was the one to found the guild, and if so, how? _

Garbadoc was not to be taken lightly, even for all his silliness and troublemaking. Hanar had overlooked that about him. 

The older hobbit continued. “The Guild is a _ massive _organization known for its business savvy and diplomatic acumen. I have never in my life heard of or encountered a hobbit who had the knowledge or desire to create something so elaborate.”

Bilbo nodded and set his cup on his saucer. “A fair question, and a clever one, considering the many questions you have hidden within it.” He reached over to place the tea on the small side table next to him so his hands would be free to tighten the leather cord at the base of his neck that held his long hair back, careful not to damage the symbolic red feather that hung there. It didn't escape Hanar's notice that when he did so, he brushed his fingers over the supposedly-secret bead hidden beneath his hair. “And you are correct. Hobbits are not generally the type to meddle in the outer world or to tolerate aspirations that lead beyond the Shire.”

“You seem to disassociate yourself from hobbits,” Garbadoc commented casually, but his eyes were too bright with a thirst for knowledge. 

Bilbo made an acquiescent sort of sound and gestured to himself. “Is that any surprise?”

As an outsider, Hanar could mark many differences between the two hobbits that sat before him with little difficulty; the most marked being that Garbadoc seemed to be shaped by family, love, care, and good eating whilst Bilbo’s form was shaped through the hardships and battles he had faced. In Hanar’s view, Garbadoc’s well-groomed appearance was more startling than Bilbo’s rough one. He had become accustomed to seeing the tales of his young master’s life etched into his skin with scars and tan lines. Garbadoc was a relatively blank slate and he found it unsettling.

The conversation drew him back into focus. 

Bilbo was speaking now. “I doubt you will be shocked when I tell you the roots of this whole endeavour.” They both leaned forwards at the same time. “Pleasant Pouches,” he divulged. 

Garbadoc scoffed, leaning back. “Come now. You expect me to believe you planned all this—” he gestured around vaguely. “From such a tender age?”

Hanar smiled just a bit more brightly. Karlin nudged his foot with hers. He dialled the smile back a bit. She stopped. 

“By no means,” assured Bilbo. “Merely that it was the original conception for this endeavour. At the time I had no knowledge as to where such projects would take me. After the Shire boycotted product designed or created by me, I expanded to the territories around the Shire where there were no such prejudices.”

“I had assumed you had simply stopped selling them,” he admitted. 

“As the other’s had as well, I had wagered. But it was best that way. Hobbits can be quite friendly and kind when they chose to be, but when they had set their sights against you...well; you well know how far gossip can spread about you. My mother and I agreed the best course of action was to remain quiet about it. The only person aware that I was still in business was my grandfather. From there, I bought a caravan with the help of a loan from him and headed to Belegost. The trip was so successful that I still have a splendid relationship with the dwarrow of Ered Luin to this day. The same caravan still travels there frequently. It has become a stable in their lives as much as it has become one in mine. With the income flowing in from that I continued to expand the business until I had what you see around you today. That is my answer to your question.” 

“Then for my next question,” he paused, staring holes into Bilbo. “What happened to Belladonna?”

Bilbo stilled. His fingers tightened ever so slightly from where they were folded in his lap. Hanar hissed out a warning. He should use this hobbit to display the consequences of disrespecting the young master. Karlin did not scold Hanar this time for his obvious reaction to his young master’s distress because she was stiff as well; and though she would never admit it, probably thinking the same thing. 

“She is alive, healthy, and happy.” He finally responded, voice level, giving nothing away. “Or so my information network tells me. Due to certain…circumstances, I am prohibited from personally involving myself with her in any way. That is all I can say on the subject.”

“All you _ can _ say or all you _ will _say?” growled Garbadoc. “Gerontius has been worried sick about his daughter for so long, angry with her for abandoning you. Does this mean you abandoned her and you've allowed her to be hated by her father this entire time?” he demanded. 

It was official. Hanar most _ definitely _wanted to make an example out of this hobbit. He actually took a step forward, body moving before he could rationalize what exactly he was planning to do. 

Bilbo held up a hand to stop him. Hanar jerked to a stop, the anger melting from his expression as he stared at the calloused fingers. “No, Hanar,” he said simply. So Hanar stepped back, a small stutter in his step. “Is that your third question, Garbadoc?” asked Bilbo, voice sounding a bit toneless. 

Clenching his jaw, he shook his head. 

“Then let us move on.”

“Where have you been for all these years and why couldn’t you visit?”

“South Gondor and Harad for the most part.”

Silence stretched between them as Garbadoc waited for more. “That’s all? You’re not going to give me any more information?”

Bilbo shrugged. “I am currently asking myself if you would believe me if I did; thus wondering if it would be worth the effort to tell you.”

“You agreed to answer three questions.”

Bilbo gave a small nod, an almost inaudible sigh escaping him. “I was working to dismantle the slave trade.”

“What? Hasn’t slave trade been made illegal across all the Free Peoples?”

Bilbo regarded him, unimpressed. “Well, _ yes, _ Garbadoc, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still _ done._” He replied dryly. “Which is the problem. Corrupt nobles are always looking for easy ways to exploit people to pad their own pockets and add to their influence and power in any way possible. Combine their greed with that of petty criminals looking for business and you have yourself quite the lucrative business, I can assure you. I’ve been at enough auctions to know how much slaves go for.” Bilbo tugged at his long sleeves a bit as though they were exposing the scars etched into his skin from years of wearing heavy shackles.   
  


Hanar noted that Bilbo didn’t divulge in what capacity he had been at these auctions. 

“How can they get away with it so easily?” he wondered, looking pale. 

“In my experience, there’s more than enough corruption in this world to go around once you open your eyes to see that the world isn’t completely compiled of kindness or even basic decency.”

“Here’s the bigger question, why, as a hobbit and an affluent business owner would you even care? How is it your business to have to deal with it?” Garbadoc fell back against the sofa and stared across the room at him, tension palpable. 

Hanar gritted his teeth together as he remembered the pain, hunger, and exhaustion of being a slave. Anything you valued would be held against you. People, items, sleep, food...all of it was nothing more than leverage for a slave master to use against you and force submission. How many friends had he been forced to watch beaten or flogged for his mistakes? How many times had his mother secretly stashed her own ration away for him before she had eventually succumbed to her famished exhaustion? Did this hobbit not care about the plight of others? Was there no compassion?! Hanar closed his eyes for a moment and tried to squash the little seed of bitterness that grew inside of him towards this hobbit who had grown up in a safe and loving environment. That anger would not serve him in any way. Garbadoc Brandybuck was irritating and irreverent, yes, but to Hanar, ultimately, he was irrelevant. He didn't have to be angry anymore. He'd been freed from those restraints when Bilbo Baggins had removed his shackles. Now, he could be happy. He could smile again because he knew that happiness would be protected. 

Opening his eyes, he focused on his master and the spark of anger that flashed there. Just seeing it made him relax. Yes. He trusted Master Bilbo to take care of this situation. All he had to do was stand guard over him and silently support him, just as he and Karlin had pledged to do years ago. 

“That’s an easy question to answer. I first encountered it in Belegost. The city lords that I was attempting to form a business relationship with were corrupt and involved in a myriad of illegal practices, including but not limited to illegal slave trading.” Bilbo enlightened him, seeming to fortify himself with an air serenity about him. “When the people in power who are supposed to uphold the laws and protect the people are corrupt, you’ll find problems at every level of society. The city lords wouldn’t form a legitimate business relationship with me because of their corruptness, and even if they had been willing to, the people wouldn’t have been able to afford to purchase my wares due to their corrupt policies. Corrupted power is _everyone’s_ business.

“If the people are taxed beyond their means, they can’t afford household necessities or living essentials. If they can’t afford those, they will become unhealthy and unable to work. If they can’t work then they can’t pay their taxes. If they can’t pay their taxes, they are penalized, or in the case of Belegost, sold into the slave-trading business. It’s an evergoing cycle that will not stop unless someone is powerful and well-connected enough to stop it. I can’t sell my wares to people who can’t even afford the basic necessities of life, so it’s in my best interest as a business owner to eliminate the problem from where it originates. And beyond that, if you have the means to create a better world and chose not to out of laziness or greed, then you are no better than those who are corrupt because your passivity is corrupt in and of itself. So yes, Garbadoc. It _ is _my business.”

Garbadoc was staring at Bilbo with a look Hanar couldn’t even begin to decipher; but it wasn’t one that seemed to question Bilbo’s words or his sanity, so Hanar was not worried. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed, Bilbo. I don’t think I can doubt your word in this.” Then he sighed, looking conflicted. “You were so young. And you built all this…it’s all so unbelievable, and I find myself asking why.” he looked around, looking slightly in shock as it all settled in.

Bilbo gave an actual genuine smile. “Let’s just say I’m building a kingdom for the sake of my king and leave it at that.”

“Well then, I suppose that answers the lads-or-lasses question, now doesn’t it?” he eventually responded with a tight chuckle.

Bilbo was unbothered. “It was never a question between the two. It wouldn’t have mattered if that person was a queen, king, or somewhere in between. It is only them and it’s that simple. But this conversation is not what I called you here for. Karlin, my file?”

Karlin nodded stiffly and went to the leather satchel that Bilbo carried with him everywhere he went. 

“I’m relieved!” the older hobbit let out a sigh that ended in a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought for sure I was about to be _ taken care of_.”

“Oh, you are,” assured Bilbo, accepting the file and took a moment to give Garbadoc an unimpressed look. “And Jemny and Emrin were only too happy to help. _ Fire, _ Garbadoc? _ Really_?”

The other hobbit leaned back, looking wary. “Now hold on now, taken care of how?” he demanded. 

“Oh, calm yourself,” Bilbo waved him off. “It’s not as though I’m about to kill you. If I’d been planning to do that, I would have spared myself from having that long and unbearable conversation with you.” 

Odd, it had been Hanar's impression that the two had a generally pleasant, if not _close _relationship. Had something strained it? Or was it this recent revelation that had done that? 

Bilbo licked the tip of his finger and began paging through the paper tucked inside the file. “I wouldn’t have chosen to reveal myself to you if I hadn’t found a use for you within the Guild.”

_ “Use?” _the hobbit grumbled. “Is that any way to speak to your elder?”

Bilbo paused in his rustling and raised a brow at him. “Garbadoc Brandybuck,” he read off the front page. “Prohibited from entering Guild property unless specifically instructed by the Guild Master or Manager because of but not limited to: breaking and entering, mail fraud, _ stalking, _ impersonating employees, harassing employees for information, and unlawful conduct…” Bilbo looked up at the squirming man and squinted. “Do I even want to _ know _what that is referring to?”

Garbadoc shook his head, looking embarrassed. “Probably not.”

“Mm,” he returned his gaze to the paper to continue reading. “Offenses have been repeated many times despite legal and practical countermeasures, including, (but not limited to)—” Bilbo muttered the last bit as he read. “Installing _ fortifications _ around the Guild Buildings and Halls, hiring and training guards _ specifically trained to keep Garbadoc Brandybuck out_, reporting this behaviour to the Bree officials, and _ setting non-lethal traps designed to dissuade Mr. Brandybuck and other intruders, _ and lastly (of note), ‘asking him to stop’, all with little to no success rate.” Bilbo looked gobsmacked. “Garbadoc, my organization has taken _ great _lengths to get you to leave them alone, what in Yavanna’s name have you been doing all this for?” he shook the paper, glaring at Garbadoc.

“Well, trying to meet the Guild Master, of course.”

Bilbo stared at him for a long moment. “Hanar?” he murmured. 

“Yes, young master?”

“Please take note to remind me later to raise Mr. Stok’s salary and send him and his family on a long holiday, courtesy of the Guild. In addition, please put it on my calendar to handle the Bree officials post haste.”

Hanar jotted it down with a charcoal pencil on the pad he kept in his pockets. “Yes, sir!” he replied cheerfully, already feeling better as he contemplated what sort of pit of despair this hobbit would find himself sent to. 

“My poor manager came to me, distraught and driven to the point of hysterics because of your antics, Garbadoc. I told him I would handle it.”

Garbadoc swallowed. “Now, Bilbo, I won’t have to do this anymore now that I know it’s you!” he tried.

“Interesting attempt but I’m not sure I believe you. Your curiosity wasn’t simply set to who the Guild Master was but also to the ins and outs of the business, which, according to my grandfather, is what got you interested in the first place. The Guild is in a _ very _good place to take legal action.” He mentioned casually. 

Garbadoc growled, defeated. “What do you want from me?”

“You like travelling, don’t you? You've been limited to the Shire and Bree for so long!” lamented Bilbo. He leaned forward and rested his chin on his folded hands. “Ten long years of nothing to do but torture my Guild. I'd like to remedy that. You love learning about history and culture and craftsmanship, don’t you?”

Suspicion was written clearly on the other hobbit’s face, but he was listening. “Yes…” he admitted slowly as if admitting it would put him in a more precarious position than he was already in. 

Bilbo clapped his hands together. His professional smile firmly set across his face. “How wonderful! Then I believe you an I are in a perfect place to work out an arrangement that will suit all parties involved.”

“And what would that be?”

_ And there it is, _ thought Hanar, looking at his lord out of the corner of his eye. _ That satisfied little smirk he gets when he is about to close in for the kill. _

Bilbo slid a sheet across the table to the other man. From what Hanar could tell, it was a sketch of some kind. Garbadoc raised an interested brow before picking it up to study it. Leaning back, Bilbo crossed one leg over the other and picked up his cup of tea once more.

Over the brim, he said, “what do you know about Black Arrows?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Garbadoc through Garbadoc’s eyes is a lot more likable than Garbadoc through Hanar’s eyes 😂
> 
> If you're enjoying this story, go ahead and subscribe and let me know in the comments! I try to respond to every comment I get, but please forgive me if it takes me a few days!
> 
> Note: This chapter was self-edited, so I apologize for any typos or missing words. I will comb through it as best I can before publishing! BUT I'M STILL IMPRESSED WITH MYSELF FOR PERSERVERING!


	40. Concerning the Golden Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this bonus chapter, Legolas receives a Calling from the Weaver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is shorter than the others that I have posted, but I feel that it is complete content-wise, and I don't wish to jump around Middle Earth, dragging the reader in tow.

_ Meanwhile in Rivendell… _

Elves had many years to solve the mysteries of existence, though few sought out to seek such in-depth understanding because as a whole they preferred to relate to the universe rather than understand it. Legolas had grown up with those words spoken quietly in his ear and his father's hands combing through his hair. Those were treasured memories that he kept close to his heart. He had never doubted the validity of those words until he had begun to dreamwalk.

This dream was like a never-ending room that seemed to have been cut from the night sky itself. No matter which way he looked, white stars glittered at him like the gems his father had told him tales of. Great clouds billowed in colours Legolas had never seen before and couldn’t begin to explain. While Legolas had no desire to conquer the universe, he did desire to understand it; but more than that, to have it understand him in turn. As self-indulgent as the desire was, he couldn't shake it free of the hopes of his heart. 

There was no pull to the ground beneath him here nor any clear delineation between floor and sky. Legolas walked where he chose, be it above, below, or on either side, with no thought to the pull he hadn't realized had restricted his exploration of his surroundings in his waking hours. He often marvelled at how his body was lighter than air and slower than sap. Yet, as fascinating as it was to explore the dreamscape, he had learned early on that it was not the most interesting thing to be found there.

Tonight was unlike the countless other nights that he had visited her in this place. For he had not come to this place of his own volition, but rather by her summoning. He had been walking the lower levels of Imladris when it had vibrated through him, thrumming until his entire body had become fully awake, as though he had been in a deep sleep before he had heard it. The creatures in the forest and the birds in the trees had all stilled and looked at him with bright eyes. It was then that the darkness had clouded his vision and he began to fall. His decent seemed unending until he somehow ended up in the Weaver's web: the dreamscape she had created. 

This place was heavier than it had been the last time he had been here. The pull was present, and though there was no floor, it seemed to him that the watery-satin like reflection beneath his feet had become firm for him to stride across. Rippling in gentle waves as he walked, he marvelled at how much the dreamscape had changed now that the pull of wakefulness was there. It had changed this place so that it was no longer an everlasting continuation of space. He approached her and bowed deeply.

The Weaver floated in her elegant white gown, her ghostly presence contrasted sharply against the deep blue sky beyond her. She looked at him and smiled, holding out her long alabaster hand. He did not hesitate to take what was offered. As soon as he touched her hand to grasp it gently, his body levitated away from the silk beneath his feet. She guided him with one finger as though he weighed no more than a feather until he was positioned beside her.

He took in her tapestry as though for the first time, though he had seen it many times before. Even the soft glow emitted from her form was not enough to hide the darkness within it. He let out a small gasp. How had he missed it? How had he not realized? Had he been so distracted by the dreamscape that he had failed to recognize the darkness seeping in? 

Her smile was gentle, no judgement in her golden eyes. Neither of them spoke as she continued to weave. She had called him to this place for a reason. She had removed the shadows from his gaze. She would not send him from her side before she revealed her purpose in summoning him. Her fingers, methodical and graceful, paused as she held her favourite thread with great care.

“This,” she said lovingly, holding golden strand aloft. “This.”

The Weaver had never spoken directly to him before, but he felt that each and every one of her words were directed at him. 

Legolas had often observed her smiling at it or shaking her head sadly as she wove with it. It was odd compared to the others. While others were but a single string, the golden thread was thick with many individual strands, twisted into something stronger and brighter. 

Often taking great pains to watch this thread in the dreamscape, he did not find it odd that she brought his attention to it now. His eyes traced its path through the tapestry. It often appeared in the strangest of places, even leaving the pattern together at times and created a new width to the tapestry that had not been there before. He had watched in fascination as the Weaver had removed the tapestry from the loom once it would fit no more due to its odd shape. She had laughed merrily at it, making a face that spoke of fond exasperation. At first, Legolas had worried that the golden strand would create discord and tangles in the tapestry, but instead, it moved seamlessly through it as though unbound by fate and owned solely by whim, binding weaker points together and fighting its way through darker patches to make it shine more brightly. 

Her face grew sad as she stared at the golden thread, running it between her fingers as it darkened. The darkness was not part of the tapestry yet, but it soon would be. Legolas empathized with the sorrowful look on her face. 

She tried to smile at him. “I have woven this tapestry many times, Legolas Thranduilion. No matter where he goes or how he lives, his light never fails to fade.”

An odd choice of words, considering its meaning to the elves. “The tapestry turns dark,” he murmured, a bit remorseful himself after spending nearly three decades watching the ornate tapestry this thread was creating. 

“Yes.”

“It is the same essence as the waking-world. Shadow has settled where light once bloomed, fear and doubt replacing loyalty and hope.” He told her, a bit of shame creeping in. It had been one of the many reasons he had declined to return home. 

“Yes,” she replied simply. 

“Can it not be restored?” he wondered aloud, unsure of whether he spoke of the golden strand or the forest he had left behind. 

A small smile played about her pale lips, a glint of mischief in her eyes. Her gaze left the thread for the first time and she stared deeply into his eyes. _ “Yes,” _said the Weaver, with an intensity that made her eyes burn like hot coals. The tapestry rippled. 

“How?” he asked, determinedly. Knowledge surged through him like a blazing wildfire, all-consuming, all-encompassing. He embraced the flames because he realized-- no, he _recognized _on a soul-deep level what this feeling was. This was his Calling. His fate. His path. His gift from the Valar. Deeply humbled, he sank towards the satiny floor, dropping gracefully to his knees and bowing with all the respect and gratefulness his soul had to offer. 

The golden thread caught his eye, and he lifted his head to gaze at her. She was smiling down at him, holding the length with two hands and offering it to him. He cupped his together and accepted what she offered. Cradling it gently in both palms, he watched in awe and just a bit of apprehension as the Weaver reached to the tapestry once more and grabbed another thread. This thread was singular, unlink the golden thread, a mix of light and dark greens, ever-changing and unpredictable. His entire being stilled as he realized what it was that he was looking at.

_ So this is what it is to relate to the universe, _ he thought in awe as she held it gently. His father was wrong about many things, but this was not one of them. _But now, _he continued his thought. _The universe is relating to me too..._

She retrieved the golden thread from him and pulled a spindle from a hidden fold in her billowing dress. She smiled at him and held the two strands together. He held his breath. Their fates were being bound together.

“Do not allow him to fall into the hands of darkness this time, Green Leaf, son of the Rushing Spring, for there is nothing the darkness would love more than to corrupt the light he bears; for they are right to fear it.”

Without another word, she threaded their strands under the hook at the top. At that moment, Legolas swore everything in the dreamscape stopped and held its breath with him. Then she twisted the spindle, letting it drop, and Legolas was falling once more. The last thing he saw would become imprinted in his mind vividly. Gold and green wound together, fates forever tied...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to subscribe and comment down below!
> 
> In the next chapter, Bilbo experiences the wonders of the new Shire and stays the winter for the first time since the Fell Winter. Come spring, he will leave for the Ettenmoors and he plans to do so without his Haradrim friends, provided he can escape before they notice him missing...


	41. Concerning Wintering in the Shire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo Baggins winters in the Shire and makes some surprising discoveries about the people and their view of him. But he is ready to leave the Shire once the snow begins to melt. He makes the unfortunate decision the leave Karlin and Hanar behind. The disapprove. Strongly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for being gone for an entire MONTH, you get an EXTRA long chapter. Please note it is not edited! I only did a quick read through, but honestly, my brain is FRIED after this.

For the first time since the Fell Winter, Bilbo found himself staying in the Shire past the bearing of the branches. He had sorely missed his grandfather in his long absence, and so had been compelled to winter in Hobbiton. It could not be said that it had been an easy feat, particularly in the beginning. It seemed to his grandfather that during the first full moon’s worth, Bilbo had barely slept a wink, and when he had, it had been holed up in the pantry, just as he had been all those years ago. 

Not that Bilbo was unaware that he and his mother had installed the steel framing to keep such intruders out, but he tended to observe that when one was overtaken by fear, one paid little heed to logic. Karlin and Hanar found themselves bundled up with him there on countless nights, each trying to make conversation and establish some sense of normalcy to their otherwise mature employer and friend. 

Finally, in the second month of winter, Bilbo had relaxed into a routine that made him comfortable. He, Hanar, and Karlin made frequent trips to the Brandywine to ensure it was not frozen over and spent time patrolling with the Bounders or the dwarven footmen. There were no incidents. So he settled. 

The days passed pleasantly, if a bit slowly to Bilbo and his small company who were used to the fast pace of adventures and schemes. Mornings were crisp and chilly, leaving many hobbits to hole up indoors and watch the blanketed hills from the comfort of their cozy smials. It was on such a morn that Bilbo most rudely interrupted from his ledgers when Gerontius Took stormed into the study and snatched the chair away from the writing desk he was stationed at. 

Bilbo’s quill dragged down across the ledger, much to his dismayed horror. 

“Bilbo Baggins, I’ve had just about enough of this!” Gerontius Took announced as he pulled Bilbo up and out of his chair, determined to drag him down the hall. 

“Grandfather?” asked Bilbo, half incredulous and half concerned. “Is there something the matter?”

Gerontius glared and scolded him. “You have been here nearly three complete months and you have yet to speak to anyone you could not strictly avoid.” 

Bilbo grimaced. His grandfather was not wrong. 

But the older hobbit was continuing before he even had a chance to speak up for himself. “There’s no denying that what happened twelve years ago was abominable and horrific. No one would dare deny it!” he reinforced the words when it seemed that Bilbo was about to say something in protest. Gerontius dragged him into his room and released him, but only so he could go to the wardrobe and rifle through Bilbo’s limited wardrobe of odd clothing, tossing things out in distaste as he went through them. “And since that horrid day all those years ago, your poor elderly grandfather has been working himself to the  _ bone  _ setting to rights the many wrongs that have been overlooked in the law and in the hearts of our people for too long.” 

He paused in his rummaging to look over his shoulder piteously at Bilbo. Bilbo snorted and leaned up against the door jam, watching in abject humour as he compared his grandfather’s antics to that of his beloved dwarven friends who very nearly ransacked his home upon their first meeting. 

“And now that my dear grandson has returned, I want nothing more than for him to see the fruits of my labour!” he yelled, voice muffled from how deep in the wardrobe he had managed to find himself. 

As silly as his grandfather was being, Bilbo knew that his words were laced in truth and he was attempting to hide his emotions behind a wall of ridiculous behaviour. Walking up behind him, he pulled him out and turned him so he could give him a tight hug. Gerontius hugged him back fiercely, breath hitching slightly as though his throat had grown tight. 

“I want you to see the Shire for what it has  _ become,  _ my boy. Not for how it  _ was _ ,” he said hoarsely. “Because this and that are two very different things.”

Bilbo released him, swallowing down his nerves. “Truthfully, I do not know whether I would be welcomed in common spaces, grandfather. When I travelled through the Shire to Hobbiton, I could see their stares and hear them whispering to each other about me. I’m not so naive as to think that will all have just gone away.”

“Maybe not all,” admitted his grandfather. “But you’ll find more than a few folks more interested in building a connection with you rather than maintaining severed ties. Especially those around your age and the faunts who had nothing to do with what happened.” 

Bilbo sighed. His grandfather was right in that respect. Bilbo  _ had  _ been lumping all hobbits together under the same category as he had the hobbits who had scarred him so permanently that day. It wasn’t as though everyone in the Shire or even everyone in Hobbiton had been there. Not even close. It was the hobbits who were radically concerned with maintaining traditionalism within the Shire that had so readily stepped up to stand behind Fortinbras.

“You’re right,” he nodded, sighing in defeat. “It was unfair of me. However, I don’t see how building these connections will do anyone a spot of good once I’m off ‘galavanting about’ again, as you put it.”

Gerontius grabbed his ear threateningly and pinched. “Bilbo Baggins, have I  _ ever  _ condoned laziness?”

Bilbo winced, trying to free his ear from his grandfather’s grip. “No! No, I’m sorry!” 

“I  _ know  _ you did not forget the lessons I most painstakingly taught you about international relations and that you  _ haven’t  _ been off cavorting with who knows who and giving the Shire a bad reputation!”

Bilbo guffawed. “I haven’t!”

“Then I suggest you prove it to me today.” Gerontius pinched his ear a little harder. 

Bilbo yelped. “I’ll go, I’ll go wherever you want!”

Gerontius released him and smiled innocently. Bilbo rubbed the poor, sore cartilage and glared at the older hobbit. His ear would be swollen and red for days!

Gerontius pointed at the clothing he had pulled out from the wardrobe and thrown on the bed rather than the floor. “Clothes now.” He directed. “Market after. Here’s the list.” He held up a leaf of paper folded into thirds between two fingers.

Bilbo plucked it form him and opened it, eyes bulging. “Great Lady, grandfather, do you intend to stock up for the rest of winter?” he demanded. 

Gerontius was already halfway out the door, not bothering to answer. Bilbo ran a hand through the strands of hair framing his face that had fallen loose from the tie at the back of his neck. If Hanar and Karlin were here today, he would not be so anxious about venturing out of doors. However, he had sent them off on errands at the Guild Building to get them out of his hair for the next few days; he sorely regretted it now. But perhaps it was for the best. They were highly distrustful of everything and everyone in the Shire save those Bilbo endorsed personally. The trauma Bilbo had sustained ran deeply within him, and he had been unable to hide it from his friends one-hundred percent of the time and it had set them on high alert. 

“Are you changed yet?” Gerontius yelled from the hall. 

Bilbo sent a silent prayer to the Green Lady and responded. “No! I haven’t even started.” Then another thought hit him. “Don’t touch my paperwork while I’m gone!” he warned, not wanting to have his carefully sorted piles destroyed. 

Snorting, Gerontius gave him a little shove into the west hall. “You couldn’t  _ pay  _ me to touch your paperwork, my boy. I reckon I’ve got quite enough on my own. Now hurry up and change out of your swaddle.”

“Swaddle?” spluttered Bilbo indignantly, looking down at his clothing 

The style was most comfortable and worn almost exclusively by the people in Harad due to the hot weather. It may not be hot  _ outside _ , but Bilbo rarely ventured out of doors, and his grandfather was getting chilled in his old age, so it certainly was  _ inside _ . 

“Never mind that, just hurry up!”

Sighing, Bilbo moved to the bed and held up the more traditional hobbit clothing. Of course, this was altered to suit Bilbo’s needs. It was absolutely necessary to make sure his wrists, neck, and ankles were never within view lest the scars from his shackles be exposed and questions then posed to him. His sleeves buttoned farther down along his thumbs and his trousers did the same around his heel. For his neck, he would simply wear it as a standing collar and use a cravat as an excuse. Weskits, sweaters, mittens and coats would be added atop for extra warmth and so he hoped he would not be overly conspicuous. He still appeared vaguely hobbitish, which was impressive, all things considered. 

Bilbo exited and presented himself, throwing his arms up and turning about so his grandfather could inspect him. He hoped it properly annunciated his annoyance. 

“There, you’ll do.” He nodded approvingly from where he sat in his chair. “Can’t have you frightening everyone off before you’ve a chance to talk to them, now can we.”

Bilbo quirked a brow at that. 

Clearing his throat, Gerontius waved him off. “Well, well, get on then, and don’t come back until sunset unless you’ve found yourself a lad to tup.”

Bilbo eyes bulged and his face flushed. “Grandfather!” he scolded, face still beat red and heated. “I’ll be back before supper!” he insisted, nearly running out the door before lest his grandfather say any more. 

_ Yavanna only knows what kinds of horrible things he’d say just to make me want to leave. _ He grumbled inwardly. 

The market was not where Bilbo expected it to be. There were no temporary tents set up near or around the meadow in south Hobbiton that it used to be established in. It was so odd; and Bilbo felt a brief flash of panic at the empty site. The market had never been anywhere else in the Before or in the Now. So why was it missing? Had the change been brought about by some sort of butterfly effect to Bilbo’s own actions that differed from the Before? If so, how many other things would also differ? How well would he truly know the quest’s path when they travelled it? Would he even know where the dangers were?

“Hey, are you okay, Mister Bilbo?” a little voice asked from beside him. 

Bilbo nearly leapt out of his skin. He had forgotten how quiet faunts were. The thought alone was unsettling. The Shire was making his instincts weak. 

The child let out a little giggle, looking proud. “No need to be scared of me, mister, I’m just good lil’ Tobold.”

Bilbo grumbled. The faunt’s smile was entirely too innocent. “I’m sure you say that to all your victims,” he muttered, then spoke a bit louder. “Was there something you wanted?”

“A story, a story!” he clapped his hands gleefully, dark brown curls dancing as he bounced. 

An idea struck him. He crossed his arms and inspected the nails on one hand, in a disinterested manner. “I don’t tell stories for free.”

The bouncing stopped and Tobold scowled. “I don’t have any money, I’m only eight!”

“Hmm, well, I’m busy today anyway. I have to find the market and get groceries for my grandfather,” he hedged.

Tobold was nearly vibrating with excitement. “Hey, I know, I know!” he was hopping again. “I know the way to the market! I’ll take you there if you tell me a story on the way~” he wheedled, as though  _ Bilbo  _ was the one falling into  _ his  _ trap. 

Bilbo put a thoughtful finger to his chin. “I suppose that sounds fair.” Scooping the child up, he followed in the direction the little finger pointed. “Lead on then!”

“I want an exciting story! Tell me about the  _ sand! _ ” he insisted. 

“The sand?”

“Old Took always used to say he knew you were far away because of the bits of sand in your letters,” he explained. “Were you at the ocean?” he gasped. 

“No,” replied Bilbo carefully. “I was in the desert.”

Those brown eyes widened comically. “You were in a  _ dessert? _ ” he licked his lips. 

Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh. Faunts were always so hungry, he had forgotten how they misheard many things as food, much like a mirage far away in the sand. “No,” he chuckled. “You now what meadows are, and forests, and mountains, right?”

His little head bobbed.

“Well, I was in a desert. A desert is sand as far as the eye can see. The wind blows patterns across it and the sun is hotter than a stove at the Winter Solstice.”

“Hotter than  _ that _ ?” 

“Much hotter. So hot you can be burned without being touched by anything. There are people who live there called the Haradrim--”

Bilbo wove a brilliant story for the lad, based mostly in truth, but he did fill in the bits he did not know with the things he had suspected occurred. It was the story of how he had met his friends and how they had fought many battles with each other in order to stop the ‘bad guys’. Bilbo did not explain how the ‘bad guys’ were actually the city lords who were separating families and exporting them as slaves or even research materials. Such things were too dark to fill the child’s head with. 

Tobold guided him through the Shire, though Bilbo knew the Shire well enough to know that he had been led the wrong way at least twice in order to squeeze another story out of him. He didn’t mind. Nor did he mind the gaggle of faunts that he had somehow acquired, following him like baby ducks in search of a new pond. In the end, he couldn’t escape them before the afternoon, and he ended up with all manner of flowers, leaves, and grass braided into his hair and many dirty little handprints all over his white shirt as they had fought to climb high enough to put in their contribution to the odd headdress he found himself sporting. Yes, Hanar and Karlin’s absence today was a blessing. He would have never heard the end of it. 

Eventually, he found himself in front of what was now called the market. 

“Thank you, Tobold,” he patted the child’s head briefly, as he and his many little friends were already distracted with reenacting the stories they had just heard from Bilbo. 

“You’re welcome!” he responded easily, stopping long enough to give him a beaming smile before he had zipped off again. He was busy pretending to be Hanar the Honorable, while the sweet and hilariously boisterous lass beside him was Karlin the Courageous. Hamson Gamgee, the eldest of Hamfast and Bell was getting rather into his role as Bilbo the Busy as well. He couldn’t help but smile as he walked away from them, leaving the faunts to their harmless fun. 

When he rounded the last hill, per Tobold’s instructions, he was astonished at the sight before him. The Market hand always been comprised of temporary buildings and tents. That was no longer the case. In their place, a small settlement of sorts had arisen, like a monument to the integration of dwarven and hobbit societies with the Shire. 

The only way to describe the market would be to liken it to a one-story amphitheatre of sorts. It was build with precise stone foundations, but finished with a cream coloured stucco and dark wood to make up the walls. There were booths facing outwards, but through one of the entrances into the interior, he saw booths facing inwards as well. It was an ingenious design and quite beautiful to look at. Practical enough for hobbits and precise enough for dwarves.

His thoughts travelled to his mother, far away somewhere deep within Ered Luin. “If only she could have seen this happen,” he whispered softly, taking unsteady steps into the north entrance.

He was so preoccupied by the fusion of dwarven architecture and hobbit pragmatism that he stumbled when a faunt ploughed into his leg, not looking where she was going. Bilbo quickly bent and picked her up off the ground, brushing the dirt from her oversized cotton shirt and trousers, carefully keeping the scarred side of his face turned slightly so she wouldn’t see it just as he had done with Tobold. He didn’t want to make her cry.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Hi!” she beamed at him, ignoring his question. She began to circle him and inspect him from all angles, not giving him a chance to hide his face at all. “You’re Mr. Bilbo!”

Why was it that all the faunts seemed to know him by name? 

Without bothering to wait for an answer, she said, “I’m Theodora.” 

“Oh,” I see,” nodded Bilbo, feeling a bit awkward. Unsurprisingly, interacting with a faunt while being scrutinized by adults was no as easy as it had been when no one else was around to be suspicious or frightened of him. “Well,” he said, standing, and brushing off his own trousers. “I’ve got some shopping to do,” he tried to sound apologetic and not rude. “There are a lot of faunts to play with outside,” he added to make up for his hasty retreat. She just stared at him. “Goodbye.”

_ Great Lady, I am so awkward.  _ He groaned internally. Silence really would be the best option for him. 

Pulling out his list, he grumbled as he began to scan it. His grandfather really was determined to make him talk to  _ everyone,  _ wasn’t he? He had only taken a few steps when he realized she was following him. He blinked at her. She didn’t blink at all. “Can I help you?” he finally asked after the stretched silence grew uncomfortable. 

“Nope!” she replied cheerfully. “But I can help you.” 

Then she climbed Bilbo like a tree, nearly throwing him off balance. He wasn’t as heavy set as other hobbits as food had not always been a given. He raised a brow at her, though she couldn’t see it where she was perched on his shoulders. “Oh can you?”

She nodded sagely, looking at his list. “Ohhh,” she drew out, lips in a big ‘o’ shape. “You have some good taste, mister, but those things will be hard to find. Only  _ I  _ know where you can find them.”

Bilbo sincerely doubted that was true but allowed it nonetheless. “You faunts are dreadfully sneaky, you know that, don’t you?”

She blinked innocently at him. Bilbo was almost positive she was somehow related to Tobold. And possible himself. 

“And what is it that  _ you  _ want, little miss?” he relented. 

A big toothy grin was back. “I heard you tell the bestest stories. I also heard you're rich enough to buy so many treats you  _ lived  _ in dessert.”

_ How on Yavanna’s green lands had word travelled this far?!  _

“A desert, a  _ desert, _ ” he reiterated, irritably. “It’s hot, sandy, and dry.”

“Hmm. Does that mean your poor, Mister Bilbo? Is that why you wear such funny clothes?”

Bilbo clicked his tongue. “They’re  _ practical,  _ not funny. They look an awful lot like yours.”

She yanked on his hair. “Take it back!” she demanded. “My clothes are bunchy in just the right sort of way and I can grow into them as I grow. Yours have fabric where there needn’t be! I’m not wasteful!” she scolded him. 

“Ow, ow,” he winced, “Theodora, let go, you’ll give me a bald spot.”

She humphed but released him. “I won’t forgive you until you make it up to me.” 

_ Tragic _ , he thought.

“And I won’t get down until I forgive you.”

“How about a candied apple?” he suggested quickly, offering up the first thing he saw that might appeal to her. 

“We’ll start there,” she agreed. 

And thus Bilbo’s shopping commenced with the indignant yet oddly informative little princess in tow. She was surprisingly helpful as he listed off eccentric and frankly, ridiculous requests from the list. Why his grandfather need a single yard of a very specific blend of cotton and wool when he had never stitched anything a day in his life was beyond me. But the woman that had kept the shop had been kind, if a bit stilted in her approach to him. Though he sensed it wasn’t out of any sort of malic, but rather because of a strained awkwardness between them, as Bilbo knew that she and her husband had both been there that day. She hadn’t apologized verbally, but she had offered a tentative smile and had cut a generous portion of fabric for him. He had smiled in return. 

After Theodora had finished her sticky treat, she was ready for a new one. Bilbo made sure to stop by a small bar that advertised it’s baked goods and pub food on the panelling next. His grandfather had requested a persimmons pie specially made by them, so it worked out well, except that he was beginning to feel more like a pack mule and less like a hobbit. 

“Alright, little princess, off you get,” he set his bags down so he could lift her from his shoulders. He stretched before he picked his parcels back up. “I am no pony for you to ride on.”

Her eyes widened. “Have you ridden on a  _ pony,  _ Mister Bilbo?”

Bilbo smiled begrudgingly. “What treat do you want?” No point in further distancing himself from hobbits in front of the faunts. It would only irritate the adults.

“Apple hand pie!” she threw both arms up in the air, grinning big. 

“Yes, yes, but no more!” he warned her before nodding at the bartender. “Two apple hand pies and a full-sized persimmons, if you please.”

The blond man smiled at him. “Straight away, Master Bilbo. I see you’ve discovered the faunts’ fondness of you?” he queried, watching with a grin as Theodora used Bilbo’s arm to swing back and forth. It was a good thing she was so light. 

Bilbo made a slightly frustrated noise. “What I can’t figure out is how they all know me! They were all born while I was away,” he commented over Theodora’s delighted squeals as he lifted his arm up and down, leaving her to hold on as tightly as possible. 

“Well, that’s probably because of your dwarves, Master Bilbo. They’re awful fond of you and told them all manner of stories. Men from Bree have come too. They aren’t familiar with the magic of our faunts and so give in easily when pressed for stories.”

Bilbo had to grin at that. “They are sneaky little buggers, aren’t they?” then the words registered. “ _ My _ dwarves, you say?”

“Aye. Nando, Geary, and Bear, I believe. They don’t often visit anymore. They returned to Nogord a few years back. But they passed through the Shire on their way and we heard about what happened during the Fell Winter from their perspective. I’m sure you won’t be surprised when I say they were shocked.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows rose. “Was it so different than what was generally thought of as truth?” he wondered.

The bartender seemed to think for a moment as he carefully wrapped and folded the hand pies in waxed paper so they were open at the top before he responded. “The Shire has ne’re been quick to see the good in anything new. It was easier for people to disregard your warnings and urgings than it was for them for see truth in them. To admit that you may have been right, that catastrophe might have been on its way to the Shire felt like welcoming it. It was just easier to ignore it and continue going on like we always had. Not that it changed anything in the end.” 

When Bilbo didn’t speak, he continued. “I weren’t much younger than you were at the time, but I knew of you. Or at least what was said of you. It was strange to listen to the adults talk about you like you were some otherworldly creature to be feared. I reckon they felt right foolish when the Green Mother vouched for you in front of those who were trying to exile you.”

“Are you telling me my name has been cleared?”

“A long time ago. They call you ‘Yavanna’s Son’ these days.” He said casually. 

_If only that were true, _he thought ruefully. 

The hobbit continued. “I think you’ll find them much more willing to listen now than they were before. Master Bilbo, it was like waking up from a haze,” he said softly. “And I was confused as to why we were so scared or angry in the first place. In the end, all that was left was shame.” His green eyes met Bilbo’s and looked pained. “I have to apologize, Master Bilbo. I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself.”

Bilbo shook his head at him, reaching over the counter to grip his shoulder. “What? You don’t need to apologize to me. I don’t remember you doing anything to me at all.” Truthfully, he couldn’t even remember this hobbit, though it would be rude to admit it.

“I reckon that’s why I’m apologizing,” the green-eyed hobbit responded.

“Well, then, I accept your apology.” Seemed there was nothing else for Bilbo to do. “But there really isn’t any need to give one in the first place. I harbour no ill will towards the Shire or the people in it. There are...forces at work that I cannot explain and those that I do not yet know.” He confessed though he didn’t know why.

The other hobbit nodded, though looked confused. Instead of clarifying, he said, “you are a good person, Master Bilbo. We can see everything you’ve done for the Shire. We are thankful, even if we’re ashamed of ourselves.”

How could they see when Bilbo was doing his work under the guise of the Guildmaster? But Bilbo left it alone. “I appreciate that, sir. Here’s you are,” he pulled the required coins plus three more out from his purse.

A hobbitess came to stand beside the bartender. Bilbo hadn’t noticed her, but she must be the baker. “Bilbo Baggins,” she scolded, putting her hands on her hips. “Mark my words, you may not feel much like it, but you are just as much a hobbit now as you ever were before; so don’t go paying anyone like an outsider. In fact, don’t bother paying anyone at all!” she huffed, shoving his coins back across the counter before she climbed down from the step stool she must have been on to see over the bar, grumbling the whole time. Apparently she had been listening. 

Bilbo speculatively turned his gaze to the bartender, wondering if he could get away with paying him quietly without the irate hobbitess finding out.

He waved it off and snorted. “Don’t bother. If you try and pay anyone, they’ll either add something valuable to your parcel or they’ll downright refuse you.”

Frowning, he shook his head. “I don’t need any special treatment, I’m a member of the Shire same as you. Commerce is vital to any economy!”

“Then I suggest you move more of your business back to the Shire,” the blond retorted easily. “Now away with you, good sir. I have other customers waiting!”

Bilbo looked behind him sheepishly to see a family standing there patiently. He murmured an apology as he passed them, making sure to give Theodora her hand pie before extracting himself from her, promising to return the next day to finish his shopping and to allow her continued assistance. Mostly because she was exceptionally good at coercing him into doing what she wanted because it was hard to say no to her huge sparkling eyes  _ or  _ her strong grip when she tugged on his hair in punishment.

And he did return the following morning. To his astonishment, it seemed as though a  _ herd  _ of faunts were waiting for him. Hand pies and stories. That’s what they wanted. And the little beasts were relentless! It became a weekly habit. If Bilbo failed to appear in a timely manner, the faunts would come to him. Hanar and Karlin found this hysterical. He could tell because Hanar nearly died choking on his own laughter and Karlin’s lip twitched in amusement. 

The winter passed pleasantly like this. It was full of snowy days and blue skies and tiny footprints scattered around his home to let him know his little friends were always close enough to bombard him with questions as soon as he dared venture out of doors. The market brought out iron fire pits that stood on legs so you could stand around them and feel the warmth emanate from them. 

True to the bartender’s word, no one would accept his payment. He had begun to send Hanar and Karlin in his place, but they would come back with rosy cheeks, having been found out easily. Gerontius thought it was all in good fun and saw nothing wrong with it, though, he did choose to do his own shopping himself from now on since it didn’t sit right with him to be riding off his grandson’s ‘success’. Bilbo wasn’t sure other people’s kindness could be called  _ his  _ success, but he didn’t bother to argue about it. 

In the coming years, Bilbo would look back on it with fondness and a sort of disbelief. It had been so...normal. Suppers eaten on the floor in front of the fireplace while games were played and warm drinks were passed around. Morning spent baking in the kitchen and testing out new recipes, and almost always ended with a small nap after elevenses. It was the strangest thing. There was no pressure. No fight for survival, or for other’s survival. 

Bilbo supposed that’s what ended up rattling him. The peace was almost exhausting. His anxiety reared its head every time he thought about sitting still in one place for too long. Even more so when he knew there were people out there suffering and he was doing nothing about it. Looking back later, he wondered when his grandfather started to notice. Had it been something in his eyes that spoke to the panic and guilt just below the surface? Had it been the way his gaze and feet would always turn towards the road beyond the frosted windows? Or maybe it had been when his laughter had come less frequently, or when his silence stretched for too long, mind somewhere far beyond the borders of the Shire. 

“Bilbo,” he murmured, careful not to wake Hanar or Karlin from where they snoozed, leaning against each other next to the fireplace. “Come speak with me,” he invited with a sad smile, heading into the study. 

Bilbo closed the door softly behind them. “Is something troubling you, grandfather?” he asked, concerned. 

“No, but I fear that something is troubling  _ you. _ ” 

Bilbo let those words hang in the air between them.

Gerontius continued. “You are not happy here, my boy,” he wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and steered them towards the window to look out onto the melting snow. “I fear you left your heart behind when you came back to the Shire and your mind has been longing to leave for a good while now.”

Bilbo chuckled. “I assure you, I did not leave my heart in the south.”

“No, I meant that you left it behind in Belegost.”

The unexpected answer had Bilbo’s breath freezing in his chest.  _ I cannot even deny it,  _ he thought sadly to himself. “I am not unhappy spending time with you, grandfather. Please do not think I have no love for you.”

“I never thought that for a second!” guffawed Gerontius. “I reckon you’d have never returned if you felt indifferently towards me. But that doesn’t mean you are happy in the Shire.”

“There are plenty of things to be happy within the Shire. More than there were before. I have found some sense of peace here,” he offered. 

“But that doesn’t mean you wish to stay. Bilbo, I know you are not the sort that can sit still. Your mother wasn’t either.”

“Isn’t,” corrected Bilbo. 

Gerontius ignored him. “I see it in your every movement. It’s killing you to sit still! Do not think I don’t know of your nightly escapades.”

Bilbo flushed. “They are  _ not  _ escapades!” he said firmly. “They are  _ patrols.  _ I like to make sure the border is secure. I can’t stand the thought that I am losing my instincts.”

“I am honoured you feel safe enough that your instincts have not been much in use. That’s good”

“It’s not good,” snapped Bilbo, but then instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled like that.”

Gerontius pulled him into a squeezing hug before releasing him. “Do not think me a fool, Bilbo Baggins. Tell me when you plan to leave.”

“Tomorrow week,” he responded, much to his surprise. “Though I didn’t know until you asked me. I’ll be leaving Hanar and Karlin in your care.”

Gerontius’ eyebrows raised. “Oh? You think you can get away with that? How optimistic!”

Bilbo grunted, shoving his grandfather playfully. “Don’t you dare tell them. They’re happier here than I’ve ever seen them. I love watching them discover new foods and seeing them eat enough to get some meat on their bones. They have friends and think of you as their grandfather too and they’re developing a routine...I want that to be their normal. Just because I am not allowed to sit still and live in peace doesn’t mean they should have to be dragged into dangerous situations with me.”

“I rather think they  _ like  _ being dragged into things with you.”

Bilbo hummed noncommittally. “Maybe so. If they get bored, send them to the Guild in Bree. There will be work for them there.”

Gerontius just shook his head at him. “The Guild cannot replace you in their lives, Bilbo. You are not so easy to forget.”

Bilbo heard how close the words hit home for his grandfather in the light shudder in his voice. He gripped his shoulder and smiled. “Don’t be glum,” he requested. “I’ll come back and visit again, I promise.”

Gerontius sniffed and turned away from him, calling back over his shoulder as he went. “You had better not wait ten years again or you’ll find yourself visiting a burial mound and not a hobbit!”

“I will be lucky if I can stay away two or three!” he assured him playfully. 

“Good, then.” Gerontius responded, voice jovial, but his handkerchief was in his hand. “Good.”

True to his word, Bilbo left the following week. He left at night, as was his habit. Hanar and Karlin had become so used to it by now that if they’d heard him, they hadn’t bothered to wake fully, assuming that he would be back before morning just like the night before and the night before that. Bilbo would be long gone by the time dawn kissed the sky. He was careful with his tracks. Of course, his tracks were all over the place, mixed in with the faunts and his friends and other hobbits, but he didn't want them to know which way he had gone because they would most assuredly try to follow. The key was to be gone before they did. Bilbo took all the shortcuts he knew, keeping up a steady trot until he reached the border. The sun was just rising. He wouldn’t have to stop in Bree because he had finalized his plans with Endry shortly after he had spoken to his grandfather. 

They would have more frequent communication now than they did before through the use of ravens, thanks to the latest contract with Thorin. The proposal stated that the Guild would be given their services in return for more aid in Ered Luin with the final construction of Thorin’s Hall. Bilbo had agreed readily. The ravens of Erebor were something out of legend. To have their bird tamers working with the Guild was unexpected and entirely incredible to watch. He admitted to himself that he took some small amount of pleasure in knowing that those dwarves were personally close with Thorin, and thus the rest of his family there in Ered Luin. However, that also meant that he had been careful not to interact with them in any way but through Endry. 

Thorin had sent his well wishes and high regard through them, and Bilbo had enjoyed listening to it from around the corner out of sight. He had closed his eyes and imagined he had meant such warm praise and words of thanks for him personally, and not for the faceless Guildmaster he had neither seen nor met. 

These thoughts kept his mind so occupied that he didn’t notice the sound of footsteps until they were nearly upon him. It became very apparent that he had lost his instincts indeed in the next few moments. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he expected to see a farmer passing by on his way to check his fields. What he saw instead, caused his eyes to widen drastically. Karlin was speeding towards him, kicking up so much snow behind her he couldn’t see through it. He was so shocked that he barely had time to try and get out of the way before she dove into him, tackling him to the ground, and nearly burying him in snow. Up close, he could see her features more clearly and they gave him pause. Her face, usually so stoic, was contorted in rage. 

He swallowed hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I hope you enjoyed it! Say your goodbyes to the Shire in this chapter, folks. It's time for an adventure to begin! Once Bilbo recovers from Karlin's rage, that is. You KNOW you messed up when you see that face.
> 
> In the next chapter, Bilbo finally sets his sights on the final slave trade outpost, the Ettenmoors. But if he can't face his lifetime fear from his childhood, he will never even make the journey there...


	42. Concerning Shortcomings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanar and Karlin have a few choice words to say to Bilbo...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, a new chapter! I am so sorry it's taken forever for me to write this. It's been a difficult month health-wise. I did, however, finish blocking out my main outline and adding finer details to the rest of the second draft. I had hoped it would get my creative juices flowing but I was dealing with a good bit of writer's block. 
> 
> In any case, I thank you all for sticking around with me and being patient. I hope you enjoy this chapter!!

Bilbo Baggins had faced down many a monster in his time: wolves, orcs, trolls, even a dragon! He had stared into death and fire itself and presented it with riddles. He was not so self-deprecating as to say that it had not taken a wheelbarrow of courage and a good-sized caravan’s worth of stupidity. That fight-or-flight fear was an emotion he didn’t run into often. It was a particular brand of fear. It wasn’t the same as the fear Bilbo felt when he slipped up while assuming the identity of Beldo where he could be sniffed out and snuffed out before any of his people could intervene. No, that fear had been like a blanket covering him wherever he went. This fear was fierce, sharp, and unyielding. It sat like stones in his stomach and wrapped around his mind like a tight band around his skull.

His ears rang with the impact of having been thrown to the ground by Karlin’s force. They were face to face now, her spear-staff pinning his shoulders and exerting enough pressure to make him sweat. Her eyes were molten pools of fire. In his initial shock, he vaguely noted that they very well may rival the flames of Mordor for all their intensity and menace, if Frodo’s apt descriptions were to be believed.

She was seething. When she released one side of the staff to close her hand into a fist as though to hit him, Bilbo acted. His hands connected with the unoccupied end of her staff and shoved it away, knocking her off balance and sending her toppling as he did so. Karlin usually wasn’t so sloppy. She was nothing if not precise. Her anger was driving her, and it showed. 

Bilbo had few advantages as a hand-to-hand fighter, but he would take what he could get. Taking the opportunity while she was scrambling to get her feet under herself, he rolled to his feet and spun to face her, kicking up a light sheen of powder snow from the ground when he extended his back leg behind him for balance. He was immediately grateful he had, or he would not have been able to defend against her next move. 

“YAHH!” she shouted, mid-over-head strike. 

The wood whipped past his ear by a fraction of an inch as he shifted his weight onto his stabilising leg. At least she was attacking him with the blunt end and not the end with the dark iron tip.

_ Angry, but not quite murderous, _he noted gratefully. If she truly was, he doubted he’d be able to stand against her. He was far too out of shape from the last few months lolling around the Shire. And even if he had been at the same fighting capacity he’d been in before the Shire, he wouldn’t have used that strength against Karlin. 

“Karlin!” he tried to reason, using a nearby tree to hide behind in time to hear the sound of wood cracking together. “You’ll break your spear!” scolded Bilbo even as he leaped out of the way to dodge her next attack. 

“What, like you broke us?” she countered loudly. 

An ache made itself known in his chest at the raw hurt in her voice. “I didn’t break you!” he shouted back.

“You left us!” she came in with a strong diagonal sweep.

Bilbo yelped, falling to his knees as it hit his shoulder. The butt of her spear connected with his chest, sending all the air out of his lungs and forcing him down flat onto his back. He grabbed it, exerting force to try and get it to stop bruising his abdomen. Karlin just pushed harder.

“You _left _us!” she cried again, voice a hoarse scream as she yanked her weapon away, causing Bilbo to follow its momentum upright. She sank to the ground in jerky motions. Angry tears fell from her eyes as she stared at him, but the next time she spoke her voice was small. “Why did you do that?”

He sat up to kneel in front of her. “Because you two were so much happier in the Shire than I’ve ever seen you.”

“You idiot!” she hissed at him, dragging him up to her height. “We were happy because of _ you, _not because of any place!”

Bilbo got his feet under him and gently pried her hands off him, but held them in his because even though they were limp in his, she did not pull away. “Was it really?” he asked gently, not convinced but also not willing to tell her how she felt. She needed to discover it on her own. 

“Oh no, Master Bilbo, you do not get to pull that on us.”

Bilbo turned and saw Hanar leaning against a tree holding his hunting knife as if he’d been inspecting it and glaring at him. Just how long had he been watching?

“Pull what?”

“That thing you do when you think you know something better than anyone else,” he curled his lip, looking back at the polish on the blade. “Getting us to question our motives won’t change the facts. We aren’t like the others. We’re not going to abandon you, so stop trying to abandon us.”

Karlin squeezed his hands. “You don’t get a choice anymore.” She glared, eyes still glossy, but tears no longer filled. “You made that choice when you reached out and grabbed our hands. When you _ promised _to take us with you.”

Bilbo pulled one of his hands out of hers to run it through his hair, feeling the chilly breeze caff against the warmed skin beneath as he did so. “This isn’t what I meant,” he argued. “I never meant to drag you along on my never-ending journey. That’s not what I wanted for you!”

“A shame then,” Hanar began, sheathing his knife and strode towards them. “That you don’t get to chose what makes other people happy. You don’t get to chose what makes _ us _happy.” Then his face darkened with angered incredulity. “In what world did you think we’d be alright with being left behind in the Shire? What did you think would happen, my lord?”

“I thought you would be happy!”

“No, you thought we would settle down!” he shouted back, his true anger finally breaking through. “You thought that we would get married and have children and buy land and follow all the steps to a _‘normal’_ or ‘happy’ life!”

“And what’s wrong with that?” he demanded, hurt building inside of him. That kind of life wasn’t one that he could ever hope to have. His existence was cursed from the moment he left that life behind. 

“Because we aren’t _normal_ and we wouldn’t be _happy! _ ” He snarled. Then he calmed himself, taking a deep breath when Karlin audibly gritted her teeth. They tended to feed off each other’s emotions. “And neither would you if you really thought about it. “Master Bilbo, we were sold into slavery by our own parents. We were abandoned over and over again. We never had _ hope _before you came and changed everything. We never had a choice about where we would go. We only went where our slave masters told us. There was no future outside of being whatever we needed to be to survive. But it’s different now.”

Karlin nodded firmly and broke her silence. _ “We’re _different. Now we get a choice.”

“You are our master, Bilbo. The master that _ we _chose for ourselves. And we get to choose where we go. Our answer has been the same since we first met you, and that answer is that we will go wherever you are.”

“Why?” Bilbo whispered, feeling defeated. 

It was Karlin who responded. “Because the world is never so full of potential and hope than it is when we’re with you.”

“Karlin’s right. Personally, I don’t want to go back to a time before we had you,” he scowled. “So just stop already and accept the fact that we’re not going to abandon you.”

“I wasn’t abandoned!” hissed Bilbo. “I left _ them _.”

“I’ll take a wild guess here and say it was so that they could be happy and safe?” Hanar wondered, a small sardonic smile quirking his lips. “Maybe you were the one who left. But I think that doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t want to and that you still feel abandoned. You were just a faunt, Bilbo.”

Bilbo scoffed. “You know me better than that.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. 

“Stop trying to force your internalized ideals of happiness onto other people.” Karlin glared. “I doubt they wanted you out of their lives. I don’t know why they haven’t come for you, but I have a feeling it isn’t their choice.”

Bilbo hated that on some level, they were right. He _ had _ felt abandoned. Or something like it. He kept expecting his family to suddenly come to his rescue or show up and scream at him for leaving them before they tugged him close into their circle and never left him go again. Because on some level, as impossible and unreasonable as it was, a tiny, hurt little voice of a very small hobbit was crying and saying, _ “if they really loved me as much as I loved them, they wouldn’t have forgotten.” _

And it was stupid, and he hated himself for it because it hadn’t been their choice to forget. It had been his. And they hadn’t abandoned him. _ He _ had abandoned _ them. _He had no right to feel this way. But he did and he couldn’t completely lockout that corner of his mind that whispered those things to him.

He kept thinking the huge empty hole in his chest would get better. That it would close and he would stop looking for them every time he got in a dangerous situation. His mother would not run to his aide when he was hurt, and his brothers-friends-comrades wouldn’t be there to cover for him when he made a mistake, and Thorin...well. He wouldn’t be there either. So while the hole in his chest never truly healed and the ache never really lessened, Bilbo had stopped looking for their faces when he needed them. In fact, he stopped looking for anyone at all. 

Truly, he had no one to blame but himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had thought he’d already made peace with his decision, so why did he still feel like they had been torn apart without his say-so? 

“We’re not going to leave you.” Hanar reinforced, kneeling beside Karlin so they were at eye level. 

But they might. Siethos might take them. She might make them forget. Or maybe she would just kill them.

“You’ll get hurt,” he whispered. He had already failed them, as Karlin had pointed out. His inability to make the right decision when his own emotions were involved was troubling and harmful to the people around him. This event was just another such shortcoming. 

Hanar nodded. “I was hurt when Gerontius woke us and learned that you had left us behind. I’m sure I’ll be hurt again one way or another regardless of whether or not I stayed in the Shire.”

Bilbo gritted his teeth. “That’s not—I meant you could die!”

Karlin stood and straightened to her full height, holding her spear in front of her as she did when she stood guard over him, eyes intense as she stared down at him. “We could die from anything any time whether we are in the Shire or journeying with you. I will not be made to regret the time I did not spend at your side when my life is finished.”

Bilbo fell back into the snow. “I surrender,” he muttered.

Hanar brightened, and Karlin straightened, expression settling slightly.

“But I have conditions!” he made known. “This is a surveillance trip _ only. _ I don’t plan to involve myself personally after that. It will be a simple clean up that I will delegate to someone else once we knew where their base of operations is and what their guard rotations look like. After that, we’re gone. _ No interference. _”

Hanar nodded, head bobbing faster than Bilbo felt was necessary. 

_ “And,” _ he stressed, not finished. “You are to act as liaisons between myself and Endry during this process. _ Not _as warriors.”

Karlin’s lip curled, and Hanar opened his mouth in protest. 

“No!” Bilbo insisted. “This is already dangerous enough as it is. This is different than other missions because this isn’t a city where there are innocents or other witnesses around, this is a fortress. If we get caught inside, we may never get out. I’ve taken as many precautions as I can. The Rangers of the North had agreed to work in tandem with the Guild concerning this matter, as have the dwarves who train the messenger birds.”

“I understand, master,” Karlin nodded firmly. “However, if you are in peril, do not expect me to act the part of a _ diplomat _ or _ liaison. _” She spoke the words like they tasted bad in her mouth. 

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile fondly at her. She was a warrior through and through. While she did not like acting in those positions herself, she understood their importance and so sough to protect them. Bilbo appreciated the standpoint. Hanar just looked frustrated. 

“We’re to be messengers?”

Bilbo tipped his head back and forth. “Something like that. It is _ imperative _that the Guild knows of our location at any given time. I would not be allowed to take this journey if they did not, I think.” His higher-ups had become more and more vocal that he stop directly taking these operations on. They were adamant that he keep himself from danger. Bilbo couldn't promise that would always be the case, but he would step back for things that he had the ability to delegate. Erebor and the Ring were another matter altogether. 

“Why are you?” Hanar asked, offering a hand to help him up, pulling out of his reverie at the same time. 

“Because this is something I want to finish for myself once and for all. It slipped past my notice in Belegost, and many ended up suffering for it without me knowing anything. I could not see the forest for the trees, and it clouded my judgement. I find that isolated incidents are rarely isolated.”

“So it’s a vendetta.”

Bilbo looked at Karlin with a small stiff nod. “Something of that nature.”

“And after?”

“I will go east and build up the Guild and its properties there. I should very much like to create a road through the Misty Mountains for safe travel. As of right now, all caravans must go south to avoid them because of the horrid state of disrepair that wretched path is in.” He sighed. “But even if there was a better path, the Stone Giants would still be a problem.”

Hanar looked interested, and so demanded to know more immediately. Their journey continued like that. Bilbo was not completely forgiven, and both Hanar and Karlin were vigilant about keeping night watch as though they expected him to steal away out from under their noses again. He supposed he had earned their doubt, but it was still frustrating.

The first few nights, it’s almost as though they are walking on eggshells around one another. But slowly, surely, they begin to relax and fall into their normal routine. It was comforting. Everyone had been so taut with the stress of the past few days that the first night they relaxed, it was a very welcome occurrence. The second night, Hanar pulled out his stringed instrument and was plucking a tune out as they sat around a crackling fire. 

Bilbo began to hum as he stared into the flames, watching them dance. The lyrics in his mind felt as vivid and as vibrant as the flames. He wasn’t sure how Karlin had guessed the turn had words, but she did. 

“What are you singing?” she asked, pausing from where she was cleaning freshly caught fish for dinner. She refused to let him help. Far be it from him to test her patience yet again.

“A song that I wrote,” he stated after he pulled his pipe from between his teeth, releasing puffs of smoke from his mouth as he spoke. “I haven’t decided on a melody yet, but I liked the one Hanar was playing.”

“Would you sing it?” asked the Man with interest. 

Bilbo huffed. “‘Tis not a happy song, you know.”

Karlin gave him a look. “Do you think we expect that it would be?” she raised a brow. “You insult us.”

Somehow, Bilbo felt a thought _ he _should be the one insulted by the presumption. “Well now I think perhaps I won’t,” he grumbled.

Hanar waved his companion off and continued to pluck and the strings. “Just one?” he asked, with all the deceit of a child requesting _ ‘just one more bedtime story’ _.

Bilbo looked at him speculatively. “Very well. Though I’ll warn you, I’m a composer, not a performer.”

Both sat forward, Hanar in eagerness and Karlin in feigned disinterest. Bilbo shut his eyes and hummed a bit to Hanar’s plucking. “No, go back to that second phrase you played,” he instructed. 

“This one?”

“No, no,” Bilbo shook his head, but the smiled as Hanar adjusted again and tried another. “Yes, that one.” 

Hanar smiled and nodded. Bilbo cleared his throat. “Just play that one over and over, and I’ll just adjust the lyrics.”

Hanar began playing, and Bilbo hummed along with it, getting a feel for the tempo and warming up his voice a bit more before he began to sing. The tune was slow and simple, a few strings plucked here and there in a soulful, longing key tone. His chest ached a bit as the lyrics ran through his mind. He swallowed one last time before he took a breath and began to sing.

_ “In honour of those who’ve passed… _

_ For those who’ve downed their last flask _

_ Let’s raise a toast for you and I… _

_ One last flask before you battle and die.” _

He could feel their eyes on him as he continued. It wasn’t perfect. He and Hanar fell out of sink a few times, but somehow, it made the melody just that more haunting. 

_ “Battle hard and battle fast _

_ It’s the only way to make glory last _

_ Swing your axes, bring your sword, _

_ And enter ground where blood is poured.” _

Bilbo paused in his singing as he let the phrase end before beginning again with the beginning of the phrase.

_ “You’d sung your last goodbye _

_ A whistle here...a fiddle-fie _

_ A battle won but you I lost _

_ Our victory came at such a cost.” _

He could see it in the bright orange flames. Blood red coals and wood burned white, kindling blackened by the consuming fire. 

_ “Snow once white has now bled red _

_ The blue your wear has blackened with it _

_ Forgive this creature; this I hope... _

_ For guilt has gifted me a necklace of rope.” _

Hanar stopped playing, fingers seeming to freeze, though not because of the chilly air of early spring. Bilbo continued with the next verse, relying on it to carry the last of the melody to the end.

_ “Who must know of trials I face? _

_ I now turn home in utter disgrace _

_ Only to find home stolen from me… _

_ A fitting ending for this story.” _

Bilbo’s voice faded and the night swallowed the remnants it left in the air. The crackling fire was the only thing breaking the silence. Karlin was looking down at the stick she had been sharpening to roast the fish with, and Hanar as staring into the fire. 

“I did warn you,” grumbled Bilbo, his self-consciousness warming his cheeks slightly.

Karlin’s mouth stiffened, but she didn’t say anything before she began to carve the stick again. Hanar half-heartedly began plucking at the strings again, and Bilbo...well...Bilbo just kept humming. 

❦

Wolves. Wolves. Wolves! It was the seventh night. They had come upon them while Bilbo was on night watch. Their snarls paralyzed him. 

“Wake up, wake up!” he cried out, scrambling to get himself onto his feet. 

Hanar and Karlin rolled to their feet immediately, bleary eyes growing sharp as they assessed the situation. 

“The trees!” Karlin shouted over the snarls. 

But it was too late. A wolf leapt at Bilbo. Panic seized him. No longer was he a hobbit close to his coming-of-age, but rather, he was a small faunt in his mother’s main pantry. 

The wolf tore at his shoulder, wrenching a cry from his lips and blood from his body. The room around him spun until he was back in the forest, the illusion broken because the butt of Karlin’s spear had come to land between him and the wolf between his thighs. In ordinary circumstances, he would have at least let out a squeak, but he was too busy watching Karlin launch herself into motion, using the leverage from her spear to topple over the canine fiend.

Bilbo scrambled to his feet and shook himself off, focusing on the burning pain on his left shoulder to keep him centred. He shrugged it to sharpen the pain. Hanar didn’t warn him before he hoisted him up so he was level with a branch. He didn’t hesitate in grabbing it. 

“How many?” Hanar asked, already drawing his sword to fend off two smaller grey wolves who were prowling towards Hanar, teeth beared and noses wrinkled in fierce snarls.

“Seven,” Bilbo responded, voice shaking, but clear. “Four small, two medium-sized, and one larger one from what I can see in the clearing. There may be others in the brush.”

Four of them were wounded already. Karlin and Hanar were no joke when it came to hunting. Wolves were not out of the ordinary to face either. 

“Let’s look on the bright side,” chirped Hanar as his sword sliced cleanly through a smaller wolf’s neck. It let out a high pitched cry as it died. “At least they aren’t wargs.”

“Hanar, by the Valar, if wargs so up on this trip, I’m blaming you,” Karlin growled, smacking one across the muzzle with her staff to stave it off so she had time to finish another. 

Bilbo pulled out his throwing knives. “The larger one is on the move,” he let them know, crouching so he could get a better view of it. It was a dark brown colour that lent itself well into blending in with its surroundings. It just needed to come a bit farther in and Bilbo would be able to hit its broadside. 

The wolf moved and he left his knife fly. The wolf let out a surprised snarl, turning to see how had hit him, but finding no one. The wolf was probably Bilbo’s height. Bilbo knew that his knives wouldn’t kill the wolf unless he got a very lucky shot to one of its eyes. They were too small and not weighted properly for larger prey. They were best used on...well. Bilbo didn’t like to think about it very much. 

He aimed for its left shoulder. That at least should incapacitate it. If the wolf was smart, it wouldn’t try to use that leg, else the blade would destroy the joint. It would give Hanar and Karlin the upper hand against it. The blade flew. It made a soft sound as it embedded itself into its mark. Bilbo would rather it would have made a loud _ thud _for all the cry the wolf gave. The creature reared back and for the briefest moment, their eyes made contact. Bilbo winced as the knife slipped out of its shoulder.

Karlin swept past the injured creature, having lost her spear to the maw of one of her own adversaries. Bilbo watched her eyes flick to the knife in the large wolf’s side right before she pulled it out and brandished it against her attacker. The large wolf began retreating back into the woods, whimpering as it did so. Bilbo regretted he hadn’t been able to finish it off cleanly. It was due to his own shortcomings that the animal was suffering. 

Hanar was in the clear now, free to dispatch his last adversary with clean, quick strokes now that he could focus. Karlin finished off the last wolf, and the sound of the altercation ceased. All the wolves were dead but the one Bilbo had injured, and it limped back into the forest quickly, yelping as it put weight on its injured leg to get away quickly. It’s cries faded and the night stilled. They were all breathing hard, and it was the only sound in this strangely quiet forest. 

“They must have smelled our food,” said Hanar through his laboured breathing. It wasn’t that he was tired. It was adrenaline. It was the first time they had truly been exposed to it since their break in the Shire. 

Bilbo climbed back down from the tree on shaky legs. “Or us.”

“They were unusually thin,” observed Karlin, nudging one of the bodies with her foot. “Has anyone else noticed how quiet this forest is?”

Bilbo had. “It’s concerning,” he agreed, body trembling. “From here on out we all need to be extra vigilant. No more cooking fires or fragrant foods.”

Hanar grumbled in half-hearted protest, but Karlin just nodded firmly. “Understood.” She crowded him, eyes sharp on their surroundings. Her proximity helped him to relax. He wasn't that faunt anymore. He was the Guild Master; stronger, faster, and smarter than Bilbo Baggins had ever been before. He had shortcomings, yes, but he would work through them become a better person than he was now. His biggest failure would be to give up. 

They had a long road ahead of them yet. Bilbo hoped this incident would be the only one to befall him, but his earlier words rang in his ears and echoed in his head. 

_ I find that isolated incidents are rarely isolated. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear what you guys think of this chapter in the comments! Did you like Bilbo's song? 
> 
> As always if you are enjoying this story, please consider subscribing, leaving kudos, and bookmarking. Thank you all so much for reading! 
> 
> See you next time!


	43. Concerning Rangers and the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with a new chapter AND GUESS WHAT?! It's not a month late! Yay me! *throws bits of confetti for myself*
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!
> 
> SUMMARY OF RECENT EVENTS IN THIS STORY:  
Bilbo and co wintered in the Shire and spent their time peacefully there. Upon seeing his friends taking so well to life in Bag End, Bilbo attempted to leave them behind in hopes they would live peaceful lives, free of danger on the road. Karlin beat his ass for that assumption that that's what they wanted. They are now north-northeast of the Shire by about five days headed towards the Ettenmoors with plans to find the last outpost the slavers have been using in order to continue illegal slaving in Middle Earth. Their plan is to find it and then retreat, leaving it up to the Rangers and the Combat branch of the Guild to clear.

Bilbo hissed as the strong, pure alcohol was poured over his wounds, gritting his teeth against the colourful ribbon of curses that threatened to pour out of him. Hanar gave him a sympathy wince but didn’t stop. Karlin just ignored his reaction altogether, continuing to scan their surroundings having climbed a few feet above them in the tree to get a better view. 

They were sitting on a platform stretched between two thick branches. Karlin had crafted it with a weaving technique Bilbo couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around, but the sticks felt sturdy enough beneath them that he wasn’t worried. The ground was about thirty feet below them. If they fell, they would likely be seriously injured and unable to continue; however, after the wolf attack, they didn’t feel safe sleeping on the ground.

“This place is so eerily quiet,” murmured Karlin from above. “I see no birds or wildlife.”

Bilbo swallowed against his discomfort, trying to ignore the needle Hanar was prepping. “That shouldn’t be,” he agreed, gaze flickering back to the curved needle and then away again. “There are many streams and springs in this area. It should be prime territory for woodland creatures.”

Hanar glanced around as well. “We should take great care going forward, my lord,” he advised. “We would not be remiss in making contact with the Guild this early in our journey.”

“I’m of the same mind,” assured Bilbo. “My instinct is telling me to stay here a bit longer until I’ve reached out to Endry and the Rangers and do scouting missions to figure out what creatures are still in the area.”

“We may as well put wolves on that list, then.”

“I wouldn’t be so hasty,” murmured Bilbo, squinting in the direction they’d come from. They had left the corpses of the wolves there and if there were other carnivores or scavengers in the area, their blood and scent may attract them. “It’s possible they were on their way out and they happened to stumble across us. If that’s the case, the question we should all be asking is ‘what are they running from’.”

Karlin nodded. “One of us should head back to the Shire immediately and warn them that there may be predators heading their way.”

“Thank you, Karlin. I believe you’re right. The Brandywine River will keep the majority of them at bay, but the bounders will appreciate the warning.” Bilbo didn’t want a repeat of the Fell Winter. 

“Which of us shall go?” asked Hanar, needle ready in hand. 

Bilbo watched it warily. “Karlin. She is faster and fights better alone than in a group. That would leave you here to protect me and help me get an idea of what’s going on before the Ranger’s arrive.”

“The delay will cost us many days of our rations,” he cautioned. 

Nodding, Bilbo ran his right hand through his hair. “Once the Ranger’s arrive and Karlin is back within our company, we shall head North-Northeast to Fornost to resupply. There’s no way we can get to the Ettenmoors and back on our current supply in any case.”

“Then I shall leave at first light, as I require no recovery time.”

“Good. Once Hanar has finished with me, we’ll trade watches. I want you to be as well-rested as possible before I send you out there alone. I’m not keen on separating in this scenario but I see little way around it unless we all turn back.”

Karlin shook her head. “This is bigger than the Ettenmoors. Fornost, the Ranger’s outposts and villages, the Shire, and even Bree may be in danger from whatever is pushing wildlife south.”

“I’m in agreement,” stated Hanar.

Bilbo nodded. “Then it’s decided. Now, best get on with it before I change my mind.” He jerked his head towards the needle, already regretting his words. Needless to say, it was a long night.

He was still awake at dawn when Karlin was ready to depart. The residual pain from his wounds and the new sutures had kept him up nearly the entire night. The slight fever didn’t help anything. Karlin looked reticent to leave, seeing him in such a state, but Bilbo assured her he would be resting for the next few days. She made him swear on his feather that he would delegate instead of trying to do anything for himself while she was gone. Apparently, Hanar was in strict orders to ensure Bilbo rested.

As for himself, he felt a bit insulted. Bilbo was nothing if not practical. Getting an infection or an intense fever would delay their little quest even further and that would not be acceptable. He stated as much. Karlin didn’t care. Instead, she helpfully informed him that she had supplied Hanar with an extra length of rope from her satchel lest Bilbo attempted anything that could be considered ‘rigorous’. At this point, Bilbo would feel lucky to be left to his own devices to relieve himself. Never mind anything else. 

It was touching, watching the two friends bid each other farewell. While neither were romantically inclined, Bilbo suspected the two would live together until they were buried together. He always found their rituals fascinating. The way they both exchanged the feathers they wore, weaving the leather cord and beads into their hair so that the feather hung nicely behind their ears was something that felt sacred in many ways. It was so like those precious moments he had spent with his dwarven brothers, combing and braiding each other’s hair that it made his heart clenched. 

“I expect you and it returned in perfect condition,” they said in their native tongue, hand hovering over their hearts before they separated. 

Bilbo had come to understand that this ritual was only done between two committed people. He had, at first, made the mistake of assuming that it extended only to romantic affiliations. That was not the case.

When Karlin turned to him, Bilbo knew the ritual was over. “I wish you safe travels,” he told her, handing her the letters he had penned for those in Bree. “Your safety is paramount. I expect you to act like it.”

“Understood, young master.”

And with that, she had left. Hanar stared after her for a long time. Guilt practically clogged his senses as he noticed Hanar’s energy decrease. They both chose to rest for the remainder of the day. Unlike Bilbo, Hanar had come out of the wolf attack generally unscathed, save for a few shallow scratches. Neither of them brought up what had frozen Bilbo because they both knew. And it was not to be discussed. 

They were more prepared to leave the safety of the branches the following day. Or rather Hanar was. Bilbo was made to remain aloft while his comrade went scouting. Even if Bilbo had been allowed to leave the treetop, he wouldn’t have been capable of it. His fever had gone down but the inflammation around the wound had increased. Moving was agony for him. Somehow he had lost a good bit of his pain tolerance during his time in the Shire. If only he were still able to be happy with the slow pace of a life spent in a set location. 

It was nightfall by the time Hanar returned. He looked better than he had since Karlin had left, distracted as he was by his objective. He climbed the tree and looked to where Bilbo was laying on his right side atop his bedroll.

“Good to see you resting,” he smiled in greeting. 

“Good to see you returned,” replied Bilbo, moving to sit up. 

Hanar pushed him back down when he winced at the effort. “Stay down. I can talk to you as well as I can when you’re lying down than in any other position.”

“Very well. How goes the north?”

A frown line appeared on his forehead. “Not well. It is as it is here. Clean water, ample vegetation, good soil, but very little evidence of recent animal activity.”

“Then there really is something wrong.”

“I would venture to say so.”

“In that case, we will continue collecting information until the Ranger’s arrive. Did you find any notable or recent tracks?” asked Bilbo, wishing he were in a better position to take note of this information in the blank book he kept on his person for such times as these.

“Some smaller animals towards the water. Beaver, I believe. But their dams were vacated. It’s likely they used the stream as a means of escape from whatever is sending them out of this forest.”

“It must be something large to send so many. Perhaps a large population of predators moving through?”

Shaking his head, Hanar disagreed. “I doubt it. If that were the case we would have seen their tracks in that area. Could it be trolls?”

“This far from the Ettenmoors? I didn’t think it would be an issue this far west,” remarked Bilbo, sceptical at best. 

“I’d not write it off as impossible.”

“In that case, I think we need to be more careful to ensure we don’t attract anything with our scent. Let’s leave as few traces of us as possible.”

“Yes, sir, Master Bilbo.”

Though he couldn’t help smiling fondly at the earnest Man, he still felt uncomfortable with being referred to as their master. He had realized that he would just have to come to terms with it because as they had pointed out, it was their decision. He meant to go forward being more aware of their thoughts and desires in the future. It was the least he could do. 

“Well then, ration and rest?” suggested his friend.

Bilbo snorted. “As if I’ve been doing ought else but resting all day.”

Hanar ignored his sulking and hummed quietly to himself as he pulled out the meagre portions they had allotted for themselves for their second and last meal of the day. It never ceased to impress Bilbo how the Man could be happy and optimistic under any circumstances. 

In fact, that optimism continued long into the coming days as they awaited their missing comrade’s return; but even his cheery disposition couldn’t keep Bilbo from noticing Hanar’s gaze and feet wandering in the direction his friend had gone. 

Midday on the fourth day, Bilbo was stretching his legs by strolling around the base of the tree when he heard footsteps approaching. He dropped into a crouch, a blade in each hand. It wasn’t Karlin. He knew that because there was more than one set of footsteps, and not one of them was accompanied by the gentle tapping of her staff. They came into view a moment later. Their green cloaks, wary bearing, and weathered supplies had him relaxing. 

Sliding his blades back into their sheathes, Bilbo stood to greet them. “Hail, Rangers!”

“Hail, young master Bilbo,” their group leader greeted. The words sounded completely different than when Hanar or Karlin addressed him as such. Which was fine, since they were meant in different ways. Bilbo knew the man from his time spent in Bree. Haredon was his name. 

“How is it that you’ve arrived before my vassal?” he queried. “Surely you are not come from Bree.” If they had it would have taken then another day or two to reach his location.

Haredon shook his head, “Surely not. We met Miss Karlin on her way there. May I introduce my party? This is Bram, Sedis, and Sergan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Bilbo Baggins, an affiliation of the Guild.”

Haredon cleared his throat. “A very high ranking affiliation,” he advised his group. 

Bilbo kept a pleasant smile on his face, trying to seem as unassuming as he could possibly be as a hobbit riddled with scars with a distinctly unhobbitly style. 

“Honoured to make your acquaintance,” Sergan bowed slightly. 

“Yes,” Bram drawled half-heartedly. 

Sedis just nodded stiffly. 

Bilbo was bemused.  _ What an odd group,  _ he thought. 

“It was my understanding you had a second vassal accompanying you,” said Haredon, glancing around. 

Nodding, Bilbo agreed. “I do indeed. He will return shortly. I’d only just sent him out in search of something edible to help supplement our rations.”

“It is fortunate you’re already taking great care with them if you’re to make it to Fornost on them.”

“Pardon?” Fornost had not been part of their set route. 

“Yes, please excuse me. I’ve yet to relay Miss Karlin’s message. I am to advise you to meet her in Fornost. Her business in Bree will take a bit longer than she anticipated and she doesn’t wish for you to remain in these woods without suitable protection. I was to give this to you,” he handed Bilbo a piece of paper, sealed with wax but not stamped.

_ Very wise, Karlin _ , he mused, opening the folded letter before searching and finding the small strand of her red feather. It was so small one would have missed it entirely if they’d opened the letter in any manner that would have allowed it to fall out. The letter was basic information. She planned on staying a bit longer in Bree to secure more of the Guild was involved with this undertaking and would be ready to go at once at Bilbo’s bidding. She estimated it would take her an extra week before she could leave the rest of the delegation to Endry’s vassals. Bilbo folded the paper back into its original small square, tucking it inside his satchel. 

“Thank you for relaying the message. Now, I believe it is my turn…”

It took nearly an hour to regale the small company on what they had found thus far. The Rangers were of the opinion that they had been right to summon them. Hanar returned and was able to give his own accounts of that day as well. It was decided that the Rangers would head east as Bilbo had planned to and continue investigating. There were enough of them that they would be able to run messages back and forth to Bree and the Guild with relative ease and very little worry of being short-handed in the event of an attack. They departed early the next morning. 

Hanar and Bilbo saw them off, offering what extra supplies they could, as the Rangers would not have the same opportunity to resupply as they did.

“Safe travels to you,” said Bilbo, bowing slightly as he offered the pack to Haredon, Hanar doing the same with the other three.

The Man returned the gesture, taking the parcel and holding it carefully. “You have our many thanks. May we meet again in peace.”

And with that, the Rangers turned and left, leaving Bilbo and Hanar to watch as the forest seemed to swallow them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno guys, this forest is giving me creepy vibes. Is it because it's in Middle Earth or because it's actually creepy? Hard to tell.......
> 
> Here, have this slightly helpful pronunciation guide:  
Haredon: HAIR-uh-dawn  
Bram: *like bran, but bram*  
Sedis: SEH-diss  
Sergan: SARE-jen  
Hanar (just in case): hahn-ARE


	44. Concerning What Dwells in the Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Is2g everything is going to be okay.

Hanar let out a long, loud grunt as he plunked down next to the stream. “Spare me your quarrels, you poorly fashioned boot!” he growled at his own shoe, dramatic even in his ire. 

Bilbo barked out a laugh, unsure if he was insulting his shoe or describing it. “If you’re quarrelling with your boot I’d say you have a much more serious problem than whatever rock has found itself inside it.”

“You tease me,” he sighed, looking up at the dark, cloud-ridden sky, not a patch of blue within sight. “But the sole is ripping away from the boot and I’ve had rocks and critters in it all day.”

Bilbo frowned, his mirth set aside without delay. “I wasn’t aware you needed them repaired else I would have handled it long ago in the Shire.”

Hanar squinted at him. “Shirelings don’t oft wear shoes, so I found no occasion to either while I was there.”

Bilbo stepped into the shallows of the stream, relishing the freezing cold freshness of it against his journey-sodden feet. “What does that have to do with anything?”

If Hanar’s handsome skin tone would have allowed it, Bilbo was sure he’d be flushing judging by the chagrined expression on his face. “Well, I’m not used to wearing them anymore. The overlap here got snagged on a jagged stone and the stitching came loose.”

Brows creasing, Bilbo bent to examine a bit more closely. “They cannot have been very high quality then.”

He shrugged. “They are old, my lord. I’ve had them ever since I had a master just south of Gondor’s border.”

“So they are too small and have been stretching for your use?” Bilbo surmised, bringing a hand to his face. “I’m sorry, my friend. I should have noticed this sooner!”

“Don’t bring yourself down about it!” he advised with a cheerful smile. “I have an idea on how to fix it quickly.”

“The repair needles we brought won’t go through the leather and I don’t fancy on using our medical ones on them either,” mused Bilbo, wracking his brain to think of a solution.

“I’ll just wrap them up. It will afford me some extra warmth as well, so when you think about it, maybe it’s a good thing that they are broken, or I never would have thought of it.”

Only Hanar could find something _ good _about his only pair of shoes being broken. Honestly, if Bilbo weren’t so oblivious to the ways of footwear, perhaps he would have noticed sooner. Should he commission a pair of travelling shoes made for himself? He shelved that thought for later. 

“Here, use this,” Bilbo pulled his extra tunic out of his satchel. “I think my grandfather must have packed it from my wardrobe, but I can’t wear such a bright colour in our present situation. Use it and cut the rest into strips to use for bandages. I’ll refill our waterskins and prepare some rations for us.”

“Many thanks, master!” he smiled, taking the bright yellow shirt from Bilbo’s proffered hand. 

It was strange how he wouldn’t have seen any issue wearing such a garment in the Before. Well. Before he’d gone on the quest. Afterwards, he had found himself drawn to more muted colours. It was such a cheerful colour, ferociously bright in nature yet somehow still charming in every other respect. A lot like his friend, he reckoned. 

Sure that his grandfather wouldn’t mind its use, he made peace with its destruction and got to work. They would pause for about an hour here to eat and bathe before they were off again. Bilbo judged they were about a six days walk to Fornost, providing his regional map was correct and they came across the Bannard River before nightfall. His compass assured him he was headed in the correct direction, but when one was in the middle of such a far removed territory it was difficult to tell. 

“Ho there,” Hanar murmured, drawing Bilbo’s attention to him. He was looking down the river, a bit east. “Is that a dock?”

Bilbo squinted to see what he was talking about. Hanar had keener eyes than he but he managed to make out what he was looking at. “I can't tell whether it's an outcropping of rocks or a dock. We might as well have a look,” said Bilbo, capping off the second waterskin. 

Hanar took it from him, but his eyes looked troubled. Bilbo watched his body language subtly shift so he was a bit lower to the ground, keen eyes observing the odd sight. “We’ve seen no evidence of people here,” he said, quietly. “There are no roads or paths, no sound or flocks in the forest…yet, I am almost certain that is a dock. I see posts holding it in place.”

“Then I’d say we best look,” repeated Bilbo, squeezing Hanar’s arm in comfort. “Perhaps we are worrying over nothing and it is a simple hunter's outpost.”

Hanar bit his lip, then shook his head. “I don’t think so, Master Bilbo. The river is too small for larger boats, and to go downstream to get to the dock would have you coming from the direction of the Ettenmoors.”

The Man had a point. “All the more reason to understand what it is,” he replied, hand gripping the shoulder strap of his pack a bit more tightly.

Hanar swallowed before he shook his head. “No,” he reinforced. “My _ Ji’tani _speaks,” he whispered, eyes fixed upstream.

Eyed widening, Bilbo understood the deeper meaning of that sacred word. It was the Haradrim word for ‘instinct’, but the prefix spoke of a distinct, life-threatening urgency. A person could have _tani-gahn _often with little to no significance, simply translating roughly to ‘fear of death’; but the etymology of the word _Ji’tani _was inherently more urgent, meaning ‘death is near’. In all the years Bilbo had known them, his friends had only ever been ‘spoken to’ by their _Ji’tani _once, and it had been a seemingly mundane day. Bilbo had learned to respect it very quickly, for it was frightening in its accuracy.

With that in mind, Bilbo finally followed his gaze. His eyes landed on what Hanar continued to focus on right away. It wasn't something either of them had taken note of before. It was a tree trunk, bent awkwardly with its roots partially exposed and its truck snapped in half, sticking out with violent shards and splinters. There were fresh buds on it. 

“We must leave,” Hanar spoke, the words rushing out of him quickly.

Bilbo’s heart beat faster as anxiety set in. They were very exposed where they were. Neither said another word as they Retreated into the forest as quickly and quietly as they could. Moved at a brisk pace, they headed west, the opposite direction than where they needed to go. They would have to loop around in a few miles to return the compass’ arm to the desired position of north by northeast, but only after they were sure they were out of harm’s way. 

Hanar was deathly silent, skillfully passing through the brush with nary a peep. Bilbo was good but he wasn’t that good. Hanar had been trained as an assassin, after all. Bilbo was just a hobbit who’d fancied himself capable enough to fix something broken and ended up with a few agility and weaponry skills in the process. Even the quiet movement hobbits were known for was no match for Hanar’s stealth. 

When his friend bent so Bilbo could climb into his back, he didn’t waste time protesting. His own mind was screaming now with possibilities. What had been at that dock? Why had Hanar’s survival instincts gone into overdrive when he’d seen it? Did it have anything to do with this empty forest? Poachers perhaps? But even as the thought penetrated his mind, Bilbo knew that was too mundane and answer to be true. After all, _ Ji’tani _didn’t speak for everyday dangers. No. It only spoke to them in the face of unfathomable evil.

But what kind of evil could be lurking six days south of Fornost, boxed in between the Andrath Greenway to the east, Brandywine River to the west, and the East-West Road to the south?

_ Something that has nothing to fear from humans and their ilk, _Bilbo surmised grimly. 

There was no true cover to be had in this forest. The snow on the brush was only just melting, and the ground was soggy with the melt, leaving splotchy footprints behind them, barely covered by the grown ferns. The trees had a few buds here and there, but this far north, spring wouldn’t get around the lushing out their branches for another month or so. That meant the only thing hiding them from view were the bare branches, which was no hiding place at all. 

Bilbo was just thinking that perhaps they had gone far enough when the ground began to shake. 

_ BOOM. BOOM. _

_ BOOM. BOOM. _

Bilbo’s eye widened in alarm, and his gaze met Hanar’s. His onyx eyes were glazed over with adrenaline. They both mouthed the same word to each other. _ Footsteps. _

Footsteps that shook the ground

Footsteps that made these century-old trees shiver in fear. 

Footsteps that seemed made in the likeness of a stone giant's. 

Bilbo swallowed thickly, offering a desperate prayer up to Yavanna for courage and to Mahal for strength. The red feather tied back in his hair whipped past his face as Hanar picked up the pace. Bilbo had to latch onto his shoulders when he suddenly veered off their path. He didn’t dare say a word in question, lest they were heard. 

They approached a tree. Now that they were closer, he could see that it had a small crevice in it that gave way to the hollowed-out centre. Already knowing what Hanar was planning, Bilbo struggled against Hanar. It was strange how the tense silence only served to add more fear and desperation into their movements as they battled for control. Hanar won the battle of strength, nearly stuffing Bilbo inside. 

He clenched his teeth in pain as he was forced to squeeze through a crevice that was too small for his hips and head to get through easily. Somehow, Hanar managed. Bilbo fell into the hollow gracelessly, his satchel hitting him on the way down. Bilbo’s breathing became more frantic as grabbed Hanar’s wrist, hoping he’d be able to pull the Man through at the widest point of the crevice. Hanar tried to shake him off, mouthing a single word.

_ Nightfall. _

Bilbo gritted his teeth, grasping on more tightly. 

_ BOOM. BOOM. _

Whatever-it-was was closer. In his shock, his grip on the man’s wrist faltered for a brief moment, and Hanar was gone. Panic was setting in. Bilbo pressed his back against the tree trunk as far away from the crevice’s sight as he could, ending up beside it. He hoped that if whatever-it-was peered inside, it wouldn’t be able to see him. 

_ Boom! Boom! _

_ Boom! Boom! _

_ Boom. Boom. _

_ Boom, boom. _

_ Boom...boom… _

It was changing directions. Was it after Hanar? _ Oh Great Lady, anything but that, _he bemoaned internally, still afraid to make the slightest noise.

Though whatever it was was farther away, he was no fool; he did not climb out of the crevice. Hobbits truly had excellent hearing and of all the hobbitly-traits Bilbo had lost over the years, that wasn’t one of them. He could still just faintly hear the heavy footfall in the far off distance. He sent up another prayer to the Valar to watch over this courageous friend. 

Even as the footfall disappeared, the forest did not come back to life. No birds, no chirping insects, no small creatures crawling out of the brush to see if it was safe...nothing. The silence was nearly as oppressive as the horrible thunder that had been shaking the very forest floor. 

Bilbo stood in that damp hollow, not daring to move a muscle. There was no hope of marking where the sun was based on the shadows cast because the only light that filtered into this space as soft, dull, and indistinct due to the heavy cloud cover. He watched as little flurries of snow landed on the ground outside, beginning to cover the tracks they had left.

A horrible understanding sank into the marrow of his bones. The creature they were hiding from was likely a troll. A troll who could withstand daylight, perhaps because of the cloud cover. Bilbo always knew he’d hated snow. 

Something was crawling up the inside of his leg. It had too many legs. A centipede perhaps? It took everything in him not to move. He became aware of other things too. A beetle on his arm. Something slimy and wet making its way over the back of his hand. An earwig skittering up his neck and into his hair. He bit back a cry of distress. He felt like he was being swallowed by this dark hallow. His mind felt clouded. Clouded like it did when he used that blasted Ring. Only there was no safety in invisibility here. Only the feeling of darkness eating his entire being whole. A spider slowly crawled along the inside of the tree to his right, pausing next to his ear. Bilbo swallowed.

_ A spider, _ his mind focused on it, the thought brightening like a beacon. _Siethös_ _ ! _

Hope warred with the emotions this deeply disturbing situation brought up in him. She wouldn’t let him die. He was still needed. If he was only near Hanar, he could stick to his side like glue and then that dreadful creature would have no choice but to protect him as well. But he wasn’t anywhere close to Hanar, and the Man had made a point of relaying as little information to Bilbo as possible. But then, Bilbo had information that Hanar did not, so maybe…

Shaking his head slightly, Bilbo set that idea far aside. He could see it now. He would leave the hollow and go in search for Hanar, only to create more issues for his friend. Maybe even to the point where the Haradrim would have to sacrifice himself for Bilbo. He couldn’t let that happen. 

_ BOOM! _

Bilbo’s feet left the forest floor, sending him rocketing upward. His knees knocked together when he landed, and the air rushed out of him in a small cry he couldn’t control. His teeth came down hard on his tongue, cutting the sound off. He felt like he’d left his stomach somewhere above him. Panic shot through him like a lightning bolt. It was back, it was back, it was back! But how? How when Bilbo hadn’t heard it return at all! Unless…

_ Unless it had never left… _

His heart froze in his chest. They were being played. There were two possibilities. One where there was more than one creature making the footfalls, and the other where there was only one, but it had been intelligent enough to trick Bilbo into thinking it had left. Trick him into letting his guard down. He had been right not to leave the hollow. 

_ BOOM! BOOM! _

_ BOOM! BOOM! _

** _BOOM! BOOM!_ **

It was near. Close. Too close. Close enough that Bilbo could hear it’s breathing. Harsh inhales and exhales. It was trying to find him. It could _ smell _him. It knew he was there. And that that chilled him to the bones. 

** _BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_ **

The ground shook so hard with each step that Bilbo was sent off the ground a few inches every time its foot landed. He clenched his teeth to keep himself from biting down on his tongue. He could already taste blood in his mouth from the first startling step it had taken that had caused him to bite off his cry, cutting his tongue a bit in the process. 

_ Blood. That’s what it’s smelling. It’s smelling my blood, _he realized, quickly clamping his lips together and trying desperately not to exhale too harshly. Quietly, slowly, softly...three things that were damn near impossible when his heart was attempting to imitate a hummingbird’s wings. His ears were screaming at him. Some kind of combination of intense sound and all-consuming panic. 

** _BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_ **

It couldn’t have been more than twenty feet away. It kept moving. A tree creaking, groaned in protest, and then snapped. Bilbo would swear until the day he died that it screamed. 

Then it all stopped. The footfalls. The sound. The cries of the forest. It was all...gone. And in that sudden silence, Bilbo became aware of just how loud his breathing was. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to quiet it. His throat was tight and his lungs felt constricted, unable to draw in enough air. 

It was there. It was there. He knew that it was right there. Waiting. Watching. Patient. Knowing that Bilbo could not hide forever. Had it found him? Did it know where he was? By all the Valar, he prayed that it did not. That it would truly leave. How had he ever told the tale of the trolls so light-heartedly in the Before to faunts? How had it been so much less terrifying? Perhaps because in the Before, he’d had his dwarves. But here, he was painfully alone. Or at least, he hoped he was. 

A mental image of Hanar, broken and bloody flashed across his mind’s eye. His own mind was tormenting him. _Anything but that, anything but that! _he thought in desperation. The spider from before was on his foot now, shaken from its perch by the earth-quaking footfall. Somehow, the creatures that were clambering over his skin were nothing anymore. Bilbo couldn’t even think of them. 

_ Is it gone? _He hoped, rather than thought, though he knew the answer. 

He couldn’t hear its breathing anymore. Everything was silent. Taking a slow, shuddering breath, he leaned forward slightly to peeking around the very thinnest part of the crevice at the top to look into the outside world. 

A huge dark eye stared back at him. 

Bilbo screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands together* OKAY, NOW WE'RE GETTING SOMEWHERE, FOLKS! I would just like to state upfront that Hanar is a-okay and has not been harmed in the making of this chapter. Bilbo is fine too and will not suffer any injuries at this point. Don't go running away now! Bilbo will get to meet Legolas in a couple of chapters so stay tuned~
> 
> Thank you as always for your constant love and support to this story! If you'd like to leave a comment about this chapter I'd love to hear from you. 
> 
> Cheers! See you again ASAP!


	45. Concerning the Creature of Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack~ 
> 
> Oh my god, it took me so long to write this chapter. Two weeks of writing and editing and scrapping and starting the process all over again. This is the fourth draft. This in-between stage is KILLING me! I think once we get to the point were Legolas joins the plot, my ideas will flow much more naturally and I won't deal so much with writers' block. I've been working on the Catalyst for 14 months now and so a little burn out is to be expected. Don't worry though, I'm pushing through it! But I do apologize in advance for any typos or instances where words have been switched with each other. I read through it myself and had Grammarly check, but because of the way my brain works I don't always catch it when I flip words around. I'm still recovering from brain trauma. BUT I'LL GET THERE AND ONCE I DO, I'LL BE UNSTOPPABLE (or something like that I guess). 
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy!

_ I’m going to die, _ Bilbo thought, staring into the darkness that was the open maw of the stone creature’s gaping mouth. _ I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die! _

He was suspended a good four meters off the ground in its fist, level with its face. Freezing, stale air blew through his hair as it emitted a scream back at him, the sound airy with screeching high pitched notes weaving through it as though it were some sort of flute that had holes unplugged. Just as abruptly as it had begun, the sound had stopped. Bilbo waited, frozen in fear and waiting for the next move it would make.

He was startled when it tipped him this way and that as if to get a good look at him. Bilbo spluttered as he was hung completely upside down. He found himself staring down at what was left of the tree he had been hiding inside, catching a glimpse of his satchel in the wreckage. His weapons were in there! He’d meant to have a weapon strap of sorts costume made for him while he’d been in the Shire, but he’d been distracted and so had left it for his future self to deal with.

Swearing profusely, Bilbo thought, _ that’s the last time I’ll procrastinate on something so important! _

Not that any of his throwing knives or his two short swords would have been of any use to him against a creature of this magnitude that was made of stone. He might as well be going against a stone giant with a pickaxe. 

The smashed tree trunk looked like it was roiling with all the insects that skittered about in a panic. Swallowing a cry of disgust, Bilbo shook himself and tried to focus. Hanar would find his satchel and the weapons inside it in the tree and surmise that he hadn’t left of his own accord. If Bilbo didn’t die, Hanar would find him. His only hope was to hold out and try to escape. There was no way he could kill this creature with his thirteen throwing knives. Bilbo didn’t know the first thing about how to kill it.

When it whipped him right-side-up without warning vertigo overwhelmed him. He found himself enveloped in shadow as it leaned over him, staring at him with dark onyx eyes. Questions bounced around in his head right alongside the panic. What was this creature? A troll? How could a troll be so huge? He’d never heard of such a thing! Yet there it was. Out in daylight, no less, seeming to be made of stone. The idea that it wasn’t a troll was becoming more and more likely, but what else could it be? It was too small to be a stone giant, and as for the possibility of being some variation of troll, that couldn’t be it either! For, trolls did _ not _reanimate after they were turned to stone no matter what you did. Its contradictions were endless! Too small to be a stone giant, too large to be a troll—but what did that matter when all its focus was directed on Bilbo. 

What-ever-it-was straightened and began walking east, up the river bank. It crossed the river easily, though Bilbo nearly had a panic attack as he was still hanging at an awkward angle in the hollow of its mitt-like fist. Though the Guildmaster had accomplished many things in his life he had not learned how to swim. After this particularly heart halting experience, it nearly convinced him to try if he hadn’t been sure he would sink like a jam jar in a cooling bucket.

Bilbo struggled against the fist holding him to no avail. His arms were trapped against his body and he feared that if the creature tightened its hold on him even slightly, he may very well be squished into jelly. 

When he found himself lightheaded, he realized he hadn’t been able to take in enough oxygen due to the confined space, which of course made him want to panic more. Tamping down that reaction, he focused on breathing and observing. It was almost working too. That is, until its footsteps increased in volume exponentially. 

_ BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. _

Crying out, he wanted to cover his ears for the sound of it, but they were pinned to his sides. 

_ Why? _ He wondered miserably. _ Why are they loud now but were quiet just a moment ago? _

He squeezed his eyes shut, as though that would dampen the thunderous noise. Then the world tilted once again. Letting out a cry, his eyes sprang open instinctually. He was hanging almost directly upside down now. Apparently this creature’s wrist joints did not work as his did; less like a hinge and more like a ball and cuff. His eyes caught on the ground, searching for something to grasp onto with his eyes to stave off the motion sickness. 

_ Stone, _ he realized, returning to his earlier train of thought. _ Is that why? _

In some twist of luck, the creature rotated its wrist again so Bilbo was facing forward. The terrain was about to change. As surely as spring rain as soon as the creature stepped off the stone surface, the thundering footsteps quieted down to gentle thumps against the dirt. The rocky, flat surfaces were scattered throughout the forest. Bilbo hadn’t noticed it much before; it had been just insignificant enough to fall out of his perception. At least not he had an answer. This explained the irregularity Bilbo and Hanar had heard.

_ Where is that blasted spider when I need her? _he growled to himself internally, eyes scanning. He couldn’t make anything out while they were moving. His position in the creature's fist was a jarring one, constantly moving side to side and up and down. It didn’t appear to pay him any mind at all. 

Struggling once more to readjust himself, Bilbo wheezed against the pressure. He couldn’t even speak because his ribs were so constricted. The involuntary sound that escaped him was choked. Bilbo was surprised when the creature actually stopped and looked at him. Turning him right side up, tt stared at him for a long minute. 

There was no time to react as Bilbo was suddenly released. He let out a cry of surprise before he landed on the palm of its other hand. 

“Oof!” 

His hip would be bruised at the very least. The next thing he knew, the creature had closed its other hand over him in a dome. It was darker and he couldn’t see where he was going, but at least he would breathe. There were some gaps between its hands but the jolting way it was walking caused them to open and close like a mouth ready to snap at whatever got between the two surfaces. He would surely be broken if he were to try to crawl out. 

Without warning, it changed directions, jostling Bilbo from where he’d been almost lying on his hurt hip, gathering his bearings. Falling to the side, pain exploded in his head as it connected with the unyielding rock. Warm wetness seeped from somewhere near his temples.

As much as Bilbo wanted to panic about it, he didn’t have that luxury in this moment. He had to secure himself, stretch himself between the creature’s palms and use his limbs as points of contact to keep himself from being tossed about like dried corn in a rattler. 

It was all too clear in that moment that this creature was horribly uncoordinated, seemingly incapable of controlling its extremities. Up and down and side to side he was jostled. His muscles strained with the effort of holding himself secure. At any moment, this creature could squash him into jelly.

_ Where is that blasted spider when one needs her about? _he growled. It was his understanding that if his life was at risk, she would step in. There was not way his life wasn’t at risk. That left two options. Either she wasn’t watching him or she was unable to help. If the first, Bilbo would find it hard to believe. And if the second, he almost wished she would try and step in just to see her end up beneath this creature’s foot like the bug she was. Maybe then she would experience a fraction of what she had instilled in him as a small faunt. True fear and pain and the knowledge that no one would help you. If only she wasn’t holding all those memories hostage. 

The longer the creature walked, the more jarring the steps became. At some point, Bilbo became so nauseous that he had a moment of weakness and collapsed within its palm. His head bumped the stone but he managed to cushion it with his hand just in time, but only with the sacrifice of his fingers. They would be sore after being crushed between his skull and the rock mitten, but otherwise, they should recover. 

If only he’d had his satchel still, he might have been able to use it as padding to lay his head-on. He’d bever imagined this would be so strenuous when he started, but the constant adapting to new motions and the ever-constant opening and closing distances of its hands, he was exhausted, muscles burning and bones aching. What little hope he’d had dwindled as he realized that with his newly amassed unjuried, scrapes, and head trauma, escaping on his own would be quite difficult. 

The stone creature passed other stone and dirt alike, making no preference and did not seem bothered in the least at the sound. He did, however, notice that its footsteps became less and less steady as it went. His stomach nearly dropped out from him when it lurched and swayed. 

Vomit rose in this throat more than once as he was plagued by vertigo. The light dimmed even further in the small shelter he was trapped in as the sun descended beyond the horizon, likely hitting the creatures back, as last time Bilbo had checked they were headed in an easterly direction. And as the darkness settled, it became harder to tell which way was up and which way was down.

Having no knowledge of where it was taking him and no way to know when this wretched journey would come to an end, Bilbo felt each passing second keenly. For hours he travelled like this, throat burning for water and bladder pleading for relief. There seemed no end in sight. 

Bilbo wasn’t sure how long they’d been trodding along for before the stone creature stopped. Perhaps ‘stopped’ was not the right word. ‘Collapsed’ may have been better suited. Bilbo felt the motion a split second before the creature descended. He clenched his teeth together in an effort to keep from biting his tongue in the moment before the creature lurched to the side, toppling over. The level of noise when it landed on the stone ground was inexplicable. It rattled his teeth and shook him to his very bones. It was as though a thousand claps of thunder had sounded in the same instant, crackling through the air. 

And then, blessed silence. 

The contrast of thunder in comparison to the void of volume was enough to leave Bilbo’s mind in shock for a few moments. His ears rang as all motion stilled, growing and increasing into a crescendo before falling away into nothing. The forest was silent. The stone beast didn’t move. And though Bilbo had indeed longed for just this, for stillness and for quiet, instead of blanketing him in relief, he felt almost suffocated by the weight of it. 

As far as he could tell, the creature had fallen on its side, based on the trajectory of its topple and the fact that Bilbo had not been an unfortunate casualty to its massive weight as it crashed into the ground. He didn’t think it had been felled. For, how would one even go about killing such a beast? Instead, it seemed to him that it had progressively become less and less table and had simply ceased to function. 

_ Well, _ he thought once he’d had a moment to gather his bearings. _ There is a good side to this and a bad side. _

The good news was that he was no longer being whisked away to wherever the creature had been headed. A hoard, a cave, a clearing, it didn’t matter because he was no longer in danger of being taken there in the immediate present. The bad news was that he was now trapped within its mitt-like hands. 

And really, he did feel stupid for trying to speak to stone. Hanar would never let him hear the end of it and if Karlin got wind, she would take to leaving pebbles among his things whenever she was to depart so he ‘wouldn’t get lonely’. He could just see her smirk now. 

Huffing, he shook himself out of those ridiculous thoughts. There was no place for pride in the art of survival. “Excuse me?” 

It took him a moment to realize that he was too quiet for the giant thing to even hear him. His voice was raspy from his dry throat. Clearing it, he swallowed what moisture he had left in an attempt to moisten the dry passage so that his words might find their way out of his mouth properly. 

“Excuse me?” 

Yes. That was better. Louder, clearer, and more confident. 

“I would very much appreciate it if you would let me out!” he tried, pushing against the stone hands for good measure. Hopefully, the creature would get the message even if it wasn’t capable of understanding him. At this point, he was willing to try anything. 

He was alone, deep in the woods without weapons after being kidnapped by a creature of unknown origin and unreasonable mass. It wasn’t an ideal situation by any means, made less so by the urgency in his bladder. 

Even though he had been trying for its attention, he was still surprised when it made an effort to shift. Not quite enough to let him out, but enough that it could peer at him with one onyx eye, glinting in the remaining twilight. 

Frustration grew in him when it became apparent the creature had no intention to further loosen its hold. Some things just would not wait. 

“Let me out, you confounded boulder!”

Shock and gratitude filled him when its top hand lifted from him, opening him to the rest of the work again. Wasting no time, he scrambled off its other palm and onto the ground, taking a few steadying breaths and trying not to hyperventilate. Its head was directly in front of him. Icy air blew across his face and ruffled his hair as it breathed out of soft huff from its nose. It was staring at him, and he was staring at it. Except, Bilbo imagined it was a lot more comfortable in this situation than he was given that Bilbo wasn’t even as tall as its head was wide. It lounged in an awkward position that it didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, it seemed quite at its leisure. Bilbo on the other hand was sitting back on his hands, balancing between them and his feet as he hesitantly put more distance between him and its slightly crooked maw that showed a sliver of the darkness that resided inside of its mouth. 

Cautiously, he stood, never taking his eyes off the creature. It wasn’t bothered in the least. That is, it _ wasn’t _until Bilbo tried to back away. Faster than he would have thought possible, one of its hands smashed into the rock in front of him, blocking his path. 

_ CRASH! _The side of its hand connected with the stone surface they were one, sending little chips and shards shooting upwards. 

With a startled yelp, Bilbo scuttled away in the opposite direction, eyes shut tight on instinct to ward against the little bits of rock that showered onto him. If he had to compare the sensation, he would have likened it to a less intense version of his time in Harad when he’d experienced a sand storm. He’d been inside a slave lord’s manor at the time, but with the openness of the buildings, the sand blasted through the open arches and wide courtyards, stinging the skin and irritating the eyes. That same sharp sensation hit him from his thighs all the way up. 

His back bumped into its other hand, where it was guarding against any attempt at a rear escape he might have tried. Forcing himself to be still, Bilbo waited for the creature to settle once more. Slowly lowering his arms from where he’d drawn them up around his face, he looked at it. It didn’t appear angry or particularly antagonistic but it was clear it wasn’t about to let him escape. Now that he was sure it wasn’t attacking him at this moment, he was more than a little irritated. 

“What?” he demanded. “What do you want?”

Bright, lidless eyes stared at him. Maybe it was because he’d hit his head or maybe it was because of his lingering panic, but it almost looked...curious? 

Tapping his foot against the hard cold ground, he tried once more to get a response out of it. “Hello?”

**“Hello?”** it mimicked his tone in a deep, hollow one that echoed inside of it. 

Bilbo startled so hard he had to put a hand down to steady himself. It had spoken! Straightening, he tilted his head, leaning forward unnecessarily. 

“Can you understand me?”

**“Can you understand me?”** it imitated him again.

_ It’s only mimicking me, _he realized. The discovery was as equally interesting as it was disappointing. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” he grumbled, dusting himself off. He really was filthy. From the hollow in the tree to the bits of things that had been on the inside of its hands, he really needed a bath. 

He ignored it when it copied his words once more in its monotone voice, but took more interest when it copied his mannerisms, brushing his mittened hands against its legs. It made a high-pitched scraping sound, but when it patted his thighs as Bilbo had to beat off the layer of dust and grime that had collected on his pants, the sound was like clapping thunder. 

Bilbo winced. “Stop that!” he ordered, pointing at it before throwing his arms up over his head in exasperation. “My ears can’t take any more!” 

**“Stop that!”** It pointed one of its fingerless hands at Bilbo. 

Bilbo spluttered. 

**“My ears take any more!” **

It had missed a few words, but as its arms swept toward him and he realized what was happening, that thought was no longer important. Bilbo let out a shout, diving out of the way just in time to escape the motion of its arms being thrown up above its head. 

His clothing protected his skin from most of the scrapes from his belly-first fall, but he would surely be bruised. He rolled to his feet. Then came the moment of panic when he thought it might try to copy him. There was no way he could get out of the way of the creature rolling toward him. He would be flattened. It stayed still, however, in a strange position of having its arms raised above its head, still and waiting. 

“You seem to enjoy imitating your surroundings on a whim,” he rasped, heart still beating erratically. _ Could it be that it also imitates the sound of its own footfall? If it was the only creature in the forest, it's possible, _ hypothesized Bilbo.

The increase in noise that he had experienced before he had been taken could have been some sort of game to it? How intelligent was this creature? It seemed young, somehow. Curious without malice. The better question was where it came from?

_ Could this be the child of a stone giant? _ Bilbo blinked at the idea, his brain halting on it.

Whipping his head up to see the creature, he swallowed. _ And if that’s the case, will its parent come looking for it? _

Bilbo wasn’t sure how stone giants were made. Some said they were carved in ages past, others said that the hearts of the mountains had awoken and chosen to take the form of what common folk recognized as stone giants.

His only experience with stone giants had been on the quest in the Before. They’d been near the entrance to Goblin-town when their path had been made substantially more difficult by the two stone giants locked in battle above them. 

_ If this creature is indeed a stone giant, _ he began to pace, the knuckle of his first finger resting lightly against his lower lip. _ Could it also be said that the older stone giants also imitate things they see? If they only see mountains would they imitate mountains? But if they saw fighting, say, between goblins and travellers… _

It was an interesting theory. But in the end, it was just that. There was no true way to test it or prove it. The urgency in his bladder made itself known once again. This wouldn’t wait. 

“I need a moment of privacy,” he muttered to it, making to duck behind a nearby tree just beyond the border of the stone the creature had landed on. Was it drawn to stone as opposed to dirt? Were stone giants? Thoughts whirled in his mind.

It echoed his words, watching him carefully. 

Bilbo elected to ignore the creature.

The last light of twilight was fading from the sky, and Bilbo found himself surrounded by darkness once more. He tried not to be uncomfortable as he relieved himself behind the tree. He prayed to Yavanna, Mahal, and any other Valar that would listen that the creature would not try to imitate him. It had been traumatizing enough when a very young Frodo had caught him unawares. After that, Bilbo had invested some of his funds into some much-needed locks for the bathroom door. 

Unfortunately, there were no such locks in the middle of the woods. Not even a wall or bush close enough to duck behind. He wasn’t willing to push his boundaries just yet. As much as Bilbo believed it wasn’t malicious, it was apparent that it did not know its own strength or the consequences of its actions. If it grabbed him in his fist again with any sense of haste, it could accidentally crush his ribcage and then he’d either be dead or as good as dead. 

With his business finished, he righted his clothing and cautiously peeked his head around the tree. Its unsettling eyes were staring at him, but it made no move to imitate him. Could it not get up? Bilbo wasn’t sure. He could make a run for it, but it would be risky. No weapons, no compass, no familiarity with the terrain, and on top of all that, a head injury. 

_ No, _ he thought, swallowing hard. _ My best bet is to wait for Hanar. He’ll be able to track this creature without problem. _

The thought was comforting to him, indeed. It never occurred to him that Hanar wasn’t the only one capable of tracking them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think? What is this creature? Any theories? 
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, I'd really appreciate it if you would consider subscribing and leaving kudos! I'd really love to get this story up to 2,000 subscribers. Thank you to everyone who has been with me up until now! I swear you guys are so patient. You clicked on a story tagged as a 'time-travel/fix it' and we're not even to the quest yet. You amaze me. 
> 
> IN OTHER NEWS: My baby brother is home from the NICU. Idk if I mentioned it before, but he's so sweet. All squishy and pink. But his chin wobbles in the more heart-breaking of ways and it's gonna send me to an early grave if he keeps doing it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this installation! If you want to send a little love my way, leave kudos and comment below to tell me what you think. If you want to be notified next time I publish on this story, go ahead and click that subscribe button!


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